


Bless Your Undead Heart

by Ninja_Librarian



Series: Bless Your Undead Heart [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AND THE OTHER THREE WON'T BE UNTIL WAY LATER, Cop Veronica, F/M, Gem Witch Shay, Law Student Allura, M/M, Magic, Magic AU, Modern AU, Murder Mystery, Necromancer Pidge, Necromancer Pidge AU, SLOW BURN MY FRIENDS, Seer Hunk, Set in Charleston SC, Sort Of, Water Witch Lance, Water Witch Veronica, Witch AU, YEAH. ONLY ONE IS ESTABLISHED, YOU SEE THOSE RELATIONSHIP TAGS?, Zombie Shiro, because guess what?, cop shiro, fire witch keith, kind of, single dad Lance, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-11-23 05:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninja_Librarian/pseuds/Ninja_Librarian
Summary: The non-magical daughter of Witches, Katelyn 'Pidge' Holt is having a really crappy birthday, given that her crush is marrying a truly horrible person and she never had the guts to tell him how she felt. Emboldened, Pidge decides to gatecrash the wedding and profess her love. Only problem? She doesn't know where the wedding's being held. So when an unexpected prophecy comes from her friend Hunk, she follows it to the tee...And ends up crashing a funeral.And raising the guest of honor from the dead.Takashi 'Shiro' Shirogane doesn't know it, but he's having a bad day, too. Because what he doesn't know is that he's dead. And that he has been dead for the last five days. Or, at least, he was dead until he woke up in a coffin. He doesn't know how he got there, or how he lost his arm, or who the strange girl standing in the aisle of the church is.But he does know one thing: whatever happened that made him sit up in his coffin was because of her.Both of their worlds suddenly upended and discovering that their connection wasn't just coincidence but fate, Pidge and Shiro find themselves at the very center of a battle of good versus evil, that could decide the fate of the entire world.





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s not fair!” Katelyn ‘Pidge’ Holt groaned through a mouthful of Reese’s ice cream, not caring as some dripped from her spoon onto her t-shirt, her entire attention on the on-screen couple as they kissed. “Why do they get to be happy? Why do they get to live happily ever after?”

“Because it’s a rom-com, Pidge,” Lance said, gently petting his friend and roommate on the head. “That’s how it works.”

“It’s my birthday, don’t patronize me,” Pidge snapped irritably, causing Lance to quickly pull back his hand out of fear of it being bitten.

“You’re the one who wanted to watch rom-coms,” Allura pointed out, lacing her fingers together and stretching her arms above her head. “We suggested _Star Wars_ but no. That wasn’t good enough for the self-pitying birthday girl.”

“Ya’ll suck at comforting heartbroken people,” Hunk said, his eyes narrowed, his Charleston drawl becoming more pronounced, meaning there was an unspoken, passive-aggressive _Bless your heart_ involved. He turned to his girlfriend, Shay, who came back to her seat on the couch with a glass of water in her hand. “Promise me you won’t break up with me, because I’ll have to go to these two for sympathy and clearly they suck at it.”

“Promise,” Shay said, folding her legs beneath her butterfly style. She held out her glass towards Lance. “You’re out of ice. Can you chill this for me?”

“Sure,” Lance said, taking the glass. Very carefully, he dragged a finger over the side of the glass, condensation building immediately around the path his finger made. He handed the glass back to his other roommate’s girlfriend, who thanked him. He turned to Pidge and said, “Look. We get it. You’re upset. You have every right to be. You just need to be the bigger person.”

“Be the bigger person,” Pidge repeated flatly. “I can’t be the bigger person, Lance. I’m only five-two!”

“I just meant, come on, one,” Lance held up a single finger. “There’s no way that their marriage is going to last. And two,” He held up a second finger. “Do you really want to be with someone who asked that shrew to marry them first? The same shrew being the same girl who got caught cheating on her first college midterm and expelled, even though she claims that she dropped out because higher education was limiting her potential, so she became an Instagram influencer who tries to convince people to buy twenty-dollar bottles of water when she’s not taking ‘casual’ post-yoga selfies or taking ‘spontaneous’ beach trip photo shoots or pretending that she woke up with a full face of make-up and artfully messy hair.”

“Okay, come on, cut Derek some slack, he did have a lot of pressure on him to date Savannah in the first place,” Shay pointed out.

“Because their daddies golf at the same hoity-toity country club in Hilton Head, and their mummies do brunch together,” Allura said, adopting a snooty tone, which meant putting more emphasis on the British accent she inherited from her late mother, who had been born in New Delhi but raised in London.

Pidge huffed, looking down at the carton in her lap. She knew they were right, knew that Derek’s parents and their connection to Savannah’s family put a lot of pressure on him and controlled his actions. But was it wrong that she kept hoping he’d fight back? That he’d fight for something else?

Fight for her?

Pidge had met Derek the same way she met Allura, Lance, Hunk and Shay—during her first year at the College of Charleston. Pidge had met first Allura when she—then sixteen and desperate to have some separation from her childhood home and the glow it had lost since her father disappeared—was assigned as the older girl’s roommate. They had become fast friends as Allura hadn’t cared that Pidge was younger than her, or that Pidge was a non-magical daughter of a Green Witch and a missing-in-action Air Witch; the last part especially didn’t bother her, as her stepfather is an Air Witch. Pidge met Water Witch Lance and Seer Hunk when she stopped by the campus’ Witch Association on the encouragement of her older brother, Matt. Gem Witch Shay accompanied Hunk, as she wasn’t a student; instead, she was learning at her grandmother’s side how to run the family business, a high-end jewelry boutique on King Street while getting her associates degree at a community college.

But Derek…

Derek was different. They sat next to each other their first semester in their Computer 101 class, the only two who were actually majoring in computer science and therefore partnered together whenever necessary to make the work load easier. Pidge had immediately had a crush on Derek, and could you blame her? Tall with bright white teeth, one front tooth slightly crooked that added character, a dimple in his chin, dancing green eyes, large biceps and tanned skin from weekends surfing along the Carolina coast… He was eye-candy. He was also the only guy in class who didn’t patronize her because of her age or gender, treating her like an equal, never doubting that she knew what she was doing. They were in mostly the same classes for the next four years and took part in the same department activities, so they spent a lot of time together.

Sure, she understood when he first introduced her to Savannah; after all, she was still sixteen to his eighteen. It didn’t stop her from feeling jealous, nor did it stop her from trying her best to prove herself as a mature individual, especially when Derek complained about Savannah’s frequent childish behavior. As soon as she hit eighteen, she thought everything would change. That Derek would see her as a fully grown woman, that he would fall for her instantly and leave Savannah. She had even bought a killer dress and had Allura help her with hair and make-up for her birthday party, just like in all the movies.

It did not work.

After graduation and they both were hired by the same company, Pidge thought she still had a chance. After all, if she didn’t get her fluffy university friends-to-lovers fanfiction ending, then she would most definitely get a coworkers-to-lovers office setting fanfiction ending. Right? Not even learning that Savannah’s father owned the company Pidge now worked for and the almost constant presence of Miss For-The-’Gram in Pidge’s workspace deterred her. Sure, she found herself continuing to take on Derek’s work on top of her own so he could go to lunch with Savannah or go shopping. Yes, maybe that made her a pushover. And, yes, maybe Savannah took every moment to insult Pidge’s face, height, wardrobe, hair, and lack of a chest, but she took it like a champ. Pidge just kept telling herself that Savannah was jealous, that she was fully aware that Pidge was competition.

But everything changed when Derek proposed to Savannah.

And what day did Savannah choose to get married? A random Wednesday in early April.

Pidge’s birthday, to be exact.

Just a little ‘screw you’ from the bride-to-be, who had smirked in front of Pidge as she tore up the wedding invitation with Pidge’s name on it the moment Derek stepped away.

So now here she was on her birthday, newly twenty-three, sad, sitting in her pajamas at two o’clock in the afternoon and eating Reese’s ice cream out of the carton like a heathen.

Pidge glanced at the clock. The wedding would take place in half an hour. Derek would be married in half an hour. Not even having a paid day off of work—a gift courtesy of the proud father of the bride to the whole company—could bring her any amount of pleasure. It made her feel guilty, too, because her friends had all taken time off of work or a day away from their classes to cheer her up.

“I guess,” She said softly. “I just wish I actually told him how I feel. And now he’s getting married and he’ll never know.”

Lance wrapped his arms around her. “It’ll be hard, Pigeon, but you’ll recover. And be stronger. And find happiness and love and all that good stuff and you’ll laugh because you actually thought that loser was good enough for you.”

Pidge leaned into his embrace, choking back tears from her own emotions and knowing that Lance spoke from personal experience. Their little friend group had been through a lot in the last few years, but nothing so bad as Lance’s situation. During their junior year of college, Lance’s girlfriend announced that she was pregnant. They planned to get married after the baby was born and everything had been really happy. But then, shortly after giving birth to a healthy baby girl, she left Lance, sending him spiraling into depression and to raise a child on his own.

With help from his large family and his friends, Lance managed to stay in school, not only finishing his bachelor’s degree but going on to complete his Master’s in Education and now worked as a teacher at a school for young Witches. Stellaluna was the fourth occupant of the apartment, and a happy, healthy, much-loved five year old.

“Yeah,” Pidge agreed, reaching up to rub at her eyes. “I know, I know. It’s hard in the moment, though.”

As the end credits of the rom-com rolled, Pidge thought, _What am I doing?_

She loved a man who was marrying another woman, right now.

A woman who bullied her, who took advantage of her and her affections and time.

And, for just a moment, she thought she heard her father’s voice in her ear. _What are you doing, Katie-bug? Why don__’t you take control of your life, assert yourself?_

Pidge sat up straight, dislodging Lance as she declared, “I’m going to crash the wedding.”

“WHAT?”

Pidge looked at the horrified expressions on her friends’ faces as she stood up. “I’m going to crash the wedding. The pastor will ask if anyone objects to the union. Well, I have an objection: I love the groom. I’m going to go, and tell him I love him, and ask him to give me a shot.”

“In front of God and everyone?” Shay asked, her hand to her heart and her eyes wide.

“Yes. In front of God and everyone,” Pidge confirmed, running towards the door, slipping on her shoes.

“Pidge, wait!” Allura exclaimed, turning around on the couch onto her knees. “Just… just think about this for a moment. You don’t even know where the ceremony is taking place!”

Pidge paused. “You’re right, I don’t.”

“Yep, you don’t, so it’s a shame that there’s no way you can gatecrash the wedding,” Hunk said, looking quite a bit relieved at Allura’s logic. “How about we go to the Five Lions and get some drinks instead?”

Pidge stared at Hunk, her brain processing and calculating.

Hunk was a Seer. Sure, he rarely had visions and when he did his prophecies were often a little unreliable, but he was a Seer nonetheless. He could foresee the future.

And could tell her where to go, where she could end up.

She rushed over to Hunk, grabbed him by the arms and started shaking him, yelling, “Hunk, where do I need to go? Where will I be in—” she looked over at the clock by the television. “—twenty minutes?”

“You can shake me all you want, Pidge, but I am not a Magic Eight Ball!” Hunk told her irritably.

“Come on, Pidgey,” Lance groaned. “There’s no chance Hunk’s going to have a—”

But then, to the surprise of everyone, Hunk froze, his eyes glazing over, face going blank.

Pidge held her breath.

Hunk was having a vision.

“_The one with whom you are fated by destiny to spend the rest of your days with is at Second Presbyterian Church on Meeting Street_,” He said, his voice blank and flat. Hunk blinked and shook his head slightly. “Uh, what just—”

Pidge didn’t listen, she was already out of the apartment.

Second Presbyterian was just down the street a few blocks. She’d be there in plenty of time, even with all the time it took to stop at crosswalks.

She ran up to the front of the church, hearing organ music within. She paused, hands pressed to the doors, taking a deep breath, eyes closed.

_Fated by destiny, _Hunk had said.

That was all the confirmation she needed, the promise that another prophecy would be fulfilled. That she would find true love.

She was going to do this. She was going to do this…

Pidge opened her eyes, determination coursing through her as she threw open the doors with a bang, marching in, past the flowers and with all eyes on her as—with all the confidence in the world—she yelled to the entire assembled congregation, “I OBJECT!”

Then she froze, her heart in her throat, her eyes bugging out wide, horror replacing her courage.

Almost everyone was wearing black.

There was only one person standing at the front of the church, a man with pale skin and dark hair that hung just over his shoulders and violet eyes, his brow furrowed in confusion where he stood behind the podium on the stage.

There was a large portrait on a stand in front of the stage, of a young Asian man wearing a police dress uniform.

And beside it was a coffin.

_Oh, God, I crashed a funeral_ _… I crashed a cop’s funeral…_

She suddenly realized how deranged she looked and sounded, standing there in Tinkerbell pajama bottoms, a t-shirt with drippings of Reese’s ice cream, her hair probably an absolute disaster, objecting to a funeral…

She opened her mouth to apologize and excuse herself to go die in shame, but just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse…

There was a rustle of movement from the front of the church. Slowly, everyone turned to look forward. At the coffin.

A sudden wave of cold coursed through Pidge, something tugging on her pounding heart, the tips of her fingers tingling like they had fallen asleep.

Something… something that she felt reached out to her, grabbing her soul.

She gasped as she felt the invisible hand grab her soul, holding on tight like a lifeline.

And then, to her horror, the man in the coffin sat up, dislodging white lilies.

Then he turned towards Pidge.

He looked just enough like the man in the photograph that she knew it was the same person. But the warmth in his skin tone had dimmed paled—he was paler than Pidge’s own pasty skin, and taken on a gray tinge—and there was a bright red mark that crossed from one side of his nose to the other. His hair was jet black, save for a stark-white forelock. His broad shoulders stiffened as he met her eyes.

For a moment, his gunmetal gray eyes gleamed honey brown, then he blinked, looking about in confusion.

A woman at the front of the church fainted, and there was a great deal of screaming and muttering and chaos.

And Pidge just stood there, frozen.

Because she had the feeling that this was all because of her.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro opened his eyes and stared up at the high white ceilings.

He didn’t know that ceiling. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know how he got there.

The last thing he remembered was…

He didn’t remember.

He knew his name, or at least part of his name, but that was all.

He just knew that before he opened his eyes he felt a tugging sensation behind his sternum. Heard a woman’s voice, yelling “_I object_!”

What was she objecting?

Wait.

He couldn’t feel his heart beat.

Why couldn’t he feel his heart beat?

And where was he?

He moved his arms, feeling about.

His left hand brushed against what felt like flower petals, soft and slightly moist.

His right hand turned up with nothing. He moved his arm again. Nothing. He couldn’t feel anything below his elbow.

His panic grew, and grew some more when he realized that his panic did not lead to his heart pounding.

What was going on? Where was he?

He sat up.

He froze, looking down at his lap.

Shiro was dressed in a white kimono, white lilies surrounding his legs and torso. He felt a flower fall from where it had attached itself to his hair.

His right hand was gone.

He was in a box.

No, not a box. A coffin.

He looked down at his chest, to see how his kimono was crossed. Right over left.

A way it was only done for the deceased.

He did not feel cold, didn’t feel his blood turn cold in his veins with shock and horror.

No. No, that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be dead. His arm couldn’t be gone.

Why wasn’t his heart pounding?

Something tugged at him, forcing him to turn his head.

He saw that he was at the front of a church, that the pews were filled with people, that they were all staring at him.

But all he noticed was a young woman standing at the very back of the church, dressed in pale green pajama bottoms with Tinkerbell on them and a green t-shirt that read **Eat Sleep Code Repeat**. She had short, floofy golden brown hair and honey colored eyes, emphasized with oversized glasses.

He recognized her. He didn’t know how or why, but he knew her.

He met her gaze…

And an odd feeling washed over him. It was unexplainable. There weren’t words for what he felt. He just felt…

Tethered.

Suddenly, someone screamed. A woman in the front pew—his mother?—fainted, the two men on either side of her rushing to grab her. The teenage girl on the other side of the younger of the two men only stared at him with wide, watery eyes, her lips moving but no sound coming out.

The doors at the back of the chapel were thrown open, and so entered four people, two men and two women.

The men were both tall but that was where the similarities ended. One was skinny with bright blue eyes and tan skin, while the other was stocky with eyes so dark that it was difficult to tell the difference between pupil and iris, and his skin was the same color. Of the two women, one was tall with dark skin and thick black hair tied in a braid that ended past her hips, a pink diamond-shaped bindi between her brows; the other was slightly shorter, with light brown skin and her dark hair cut into a bob and wearing big gold hoop earrings, a orange crystal hanging from a cord around her neck. For some reason, like the young woman they joined, they were all wearing what appeared to be pajamas.

The man with the blue eyes stared at Shiro, then whispered something under his breath while making the sign of the cross.

“P-Pidge?” The other man said shakily, terror in his voice.

“I don’t know…” The young woman—Pidge—said in a voice that was only slightly stronger than a whimper.

No, she knew something. Shiro _knew_ that _she_ knew something.

Without thinking, Shiro heaved himself out of the coffin.

And landed face-first on the floor, taking the coffin with him, leading to more shrieks as the coffin hit the floor with a resounding, echoing boom, the lilies flying everywhere.

Despite landing on his face on the hard wooden floor, he felt no pain. No tears sprang to his eyes when his nose connected with the ground. There was no heat of an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

He still could not feel his heartbeat.

Shiro pushed himself off the floor, a difficult feat with only one hand and being tangled up in the sleeves and skirts of his kimono. He finally got to his feet as more people screamed in horror, some sitting frozen and some fleeing, some getting to their feet, trying to figure out what was going on.

The entire time, Shiro met the woman’s eyes.

She took a step forward.

And so did Shiro.

She took another step.

And so did Shiro.

She took another step…

A figure leapt in front of Shiro, more screams and shouts surrounding them as the man held fire in the palms of his hands.

“Stay away from him!” The man growled. “You won’t touch him!”

Shiro couldn’t see beyond the man, couldn’t see the woman. He needed her… She had the answers…

He didn’t see what the woman did, but just saw that the man in front of him went to attack her.

But all of a sudden, a torrential downpour landed on the man, the fire extinguishing as he spluttered.

Shiro frowned. Had the fire alarm gone off? Was this the work of sprinklers?

“DID YOU JUST DOUSE ME WITH HOLY WATER?” The man roared at someone.

“EAT IT, FIREBUG!” Another man yelled back.

Suddenly, his left wrist was seized by the woman, who pulled him along, her eyes wide, as she said, “Come on!”

Shiro followed her into a car, where he was ushered in, the stocky guy in the front seat, the girl with the bob in the passenger seat, the girl with the bindi squeezing into the car, with the woman—Pidge—shoving Shiro in then quickly jumping in. The man with blue eyes quickly followed, slamming the door shut as he yelled, “DRIVE, HUNK, DRIVE!”

With a squeal of the wheels, they were off.

And Shiro… Well. He had a lot more questions now.

Starting with, who the hell were these people?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Shiro has zero idea what he's just gotten himself into. Granted, he's got zero idea in general, so...


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh my God,” Hunk was saying, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. “Oh my God. We just crashed a funeral. We just crashed a cop’s funeral. And kidnapped a dead guy. Is he dead? Oh my God, we don’t even know if he’s dead or alive and we just kidnapped him anyways…”

“Hunk, focus on driving, not on the situation,” Allura ordered from the backseat.

“Where should we go? Back to the apartment?” Shay asked, turning her head to look in the backseat.

“Go to my house,” Allura instructed. “It’s my father’s day off. He’ll be able to give us some insight on our… guest’s, er, living situation.”

“Oh my God…” Hunk groaned as he turned on his turn signal.

“Hunk, turn off that turn signal! We are in a car chase now! There is no time for turn signals!” Lance yelled, waving his hands around, nearly hitting Pidge in the face.

“It’s what I was taught in driver’s ed!” Hunk yelled back as he made the turn.

“It’s quiznaking South Carolina!” Lance yelled. “No one knows how to use a turn signal in this state!”

“Shut up and let me drive! I’m already pissed off that none of you are wearing your seatbelts back there!” Hunk yelled.

“Kind of hard to do when there are four people crammed into three-seats,” Allura said, her hand clenched around the Oh-Jesus handle above the window.

“When this is all over, I want my sanity back!” Hunk yelled.

While Hunk released his panic externally, Pidge was freaking out internally.

She stared at the man beside her, who stared back.

He was dead. Wasn’t he? He had to be. She crashed his funeral.

She crashed his funeral and didn’t even know his name.

For that matter, he apparently just came back from the dead to be kidnapped by a bunch of strangers.

“I’m Pidge,” She blurted out. “Well, actually my name is Katie. Katie Holt. But everyone calls me Pidge. And, uh, what’s your name?”

He blinked. Then, after a moment of silence, said in a shaky voice, “Shiro. I don’t know if there’s anything else.”

Pidge nodded. “Nice to meet you, Shiro. Uh, sorry about kidnapping you from your own funeral.”

“So I am dead. Was dead?” Shiro asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“I don’t know,” Pidge admitted. “I, uh, I wasn’t exactly invited. To the funeral. I don’t know the particulars. Or what’s going on, really.”

“Oh.” Shiro said. He turned and looked out the windshield and said, “Glad it’s not just me, then.”

“That’s really kind of a sad statement,” Pidge commented.

“It’s really kind of a sad situation, isn’t it?” Shiro countered.

“Fair point.”

Shiro turned back to her, then glanced over at Lance. “Your friend is a Witch.”

“Yes, he is,” Pidge said, instantly worried, and noticed Lance stiffen slightly, glancing over cautiously. While everyone knew that Witches existed, that didn’t necessarily mean they were well liked. Even growing up without powers, Pidge had been tormented by schoolmates who told her to take her broom and fly away, that no one wanted Witches at the school. Witches faced a lot of discrimination in the workforce and education environments, and in most states—such as South Carolina—Witches had to be registered before they could do things such as get a driver’s license, register to vote, and apply for scholarships.

“Are you a Witch, too?” Shiro asked.

“Are you?” Pidge countered.

Shiro shrugged slightly, difficult when his broad shoulders were squished between Pidge and Allura’s bodies. “Hell if I know.”

Pidge frowned at that. “Do you… do you not remember? You said you didn’t know if there was more to your name. Do you know what you did when you were, uh, before you were in the coffin? How old you are, who your family is, where you live?”

“I don’t,” Shiro confirmed sadly. “I remember random things. Like that I’m wearing a kimono. And that, if I was alive, it would not be worn this way.”

Pidge hesitated, then asked, “You don’t remember… how you died then?”

“No.”

Hunk pulled up to the curb outside of the Altea-Smythe residence, and they all filed out of the car. Allura led them up to the house, throwing open the door and practically shoving Shiro inside before the neighbors—especially the nosy Mrs. Greene—noticed them.

“Father!” Allura called as Shay closed the door behind them. “Coran!”

“In the kitchen,” Dr. Alfor Altea called in response.

They followed Allura into the large kitchen, where Alfor—a tall black man with white hair and beard—was currently leaning against the counter, pouring himself a glass of sweet tea.

The man glanced up at his daughter and her posse, turned back to his task, then did a double take, his eyes going wide as he stared at Shiro.

The glass of sweet tea fell from his hand, shattering, the jug slowly emptying more of the South’s house wine onto the tile.

At that moment, the back door swung open and a man with graying ginger hair and a bushy mustache entered the kitchen, carrying a large basket of vegetables.

“Our okra crop is already yielding fantastic results!” Coran Smythe said cheerily. “I’ll have to thank—” He cut himself off and looked about the room. “Oh, dear, have I missed something?”

Alfor just shook his head, still staring at Shiro. “No… You can’t be… No…”

This alarmed the newcomers.

“Dr. Altea, you know Shiro?” Pidge asked.

“I… That is one way of looking at it,” Alfor said. He shakily set the jug on the counter, then pulled out a chair from the breakfast table, sinking into it wearily as he stared at Shiro. “You died on my table. Five days ago. I signed your death certificate. There was no hope of saving you. Your injuries were too severe. My team and I worked on you for hours in the trauma unit. How are you standing here?”

“I, uh, I got better?” Shiro said with a weak smile.

“So I see,” Alfor said dryly.

“What happened to me?” Shiro asked. “How did I end up at the hospital? Wait, do you know my name?”

“Before I answer your questions, let me ask a few myself,” Alfor said. He frowned, then said, “Allura, my darling princess, will you do your old father a favor and get down the bottle of Bourbon from the liquor cabinet? I think we are all going to need a bit of that…”

Allura did so, and Shay and Hunk helped her pull down glasses. Whiskey was poured, and everyone found a place to sit. Pidge and Shiro joined Alfor and Coran at the breakfast table, while Hunk and Shay occupied the seat in the bay window overlooking Coran’s garden, and Lance and Allura found counter space to sit on. Alfor downed his shot-glass of whiskey, then poured himself another one as he said, “So. What happened?”

Instinctively, Pidge took hold of the locket around her neck and started rubbing her finger over it as she started the story. Telling the events of the last hour made her feel like the opposite of how smart her IQ said she was and a little humiliated when she explained that she entered the church, hoping to stop a wedding and ended up interrupting a funeral.

“And then this guy just sits up in his coffin and we kind of sort of kidnapped him and here we are.” She finished.

Alfor was quiet for a moment, then said, “Shiro, stretch out your arm for a moment.”

Shiro did so, and Alfor pressed two fingers to the inside of his wrist. After a moment of quiet, Alfor said, “No pulse.”

“I can’t feel my heartbeat either,” Shiro said. He frowned, and added, “And I just realized, I don’t think I’m breathing. Can you please tell me what happened?”

“That is a bit of a problem,” Alfor admitted. “I only know what happened after you were wheeled into MUSC’s Emergency Room—Medical University of South Carolina,” He clarified after seeing Shiro’s brows furrow in confusion at the acronym. “I do know that you were unconscious the entire time. I don’t think you… suffered… in the end. But you had that mark across your face, and it was affecting your breathing. We intubated you. Your heart was weak, and your brain activity fading, and then you flatlined in both areas. We tried to resuscitate you. And… we failed. I am so sorry.”

Coran reached across the table and laid a hand on Alfor’s arm comfortingly. “You can’t save them all, love.”

“Does not make it easier to lose a patient,” Alfor whispered, taking a sip of his whiskey. He eyed Shiro and added, “Nor to have said dead patient suddenly enter your kitchen.”

“And my arm?” Shiro asked, looking at the empty sleeve of his kimono.

“Emergency amputation,” Alfor explained. “Your arm from the elbow down was covered in burns, practically blackened. We think you were struck by lightning, as it had been storming all day. There was no hope of saving the limb.”

“And my name?” Shiro asked, glancing up at Alfor.

“Detective Takashi Shirogane of the Charleston Police Department, according to your badge and your supervisor, Captain Mitch Iverson. We called him first, since your police ID was the only thing you had on you, though you weren’t in uniform. He came to ID you, to spare your parents from having to do so.” Alfor explained. “But, I am sorry, that is all I know.”

“Was an autopsy performed?” Allura asked.

“No,” Alfor said, shaking his head. “Your parents, Detective Shirogane, stated that they did not want an autopsy performed. Charleston PD saw no need for one, especially if it went against your family’s wishes, nor did I or any other attending doctor think it was necessary. Now what I want to know,” He took another steadying sip of his whiskey and turned his glance towards Coran. “Is what could have possibly reanimated Detective Shirogane. Magic?”

“It would seem so,” Coran said, frowning and stroking his mustache. “But not any of Mr. Shirogane’s. I doubt he had any magic in life, nor does he have any in death.”

“Before I… woke up, I heard a voice.” Shiro said. “A female voice. She was objecting to something.” He turned to Pidge. “So I am assuming that was you.”

Pidge felt her heart lurch and she shook her head. “No. No, that can’t be right. I’m not a Witch. My parents are, my older brother is, but I’m not. I was born without magic. Besides, even if I was a Witch, there’s no magic that can bring someone back from the dead.”

“I wouldn’t say that quite so—” Coran started, but was cut off by a pounding on the door, followed by someone incessantly ringing the doorbell.

“Mrs. Greene,” Allura groaned, hopping off the counter. “She’s here to butt in, most likely. I’ll go shoo her away.”

“I’ll come with you,” Lance said, following her out of the kitchen. “I’m good at charming old ladies.”

“What were you saying, Coran?” Pidge asked, but before Coran could answer they heard an enraged voice from the front door yell “YOU!”

It was not the voice of a little old lady, but a very angry man.

And the voice sounded familiar. Because they had heard it not half an hour ago at Shiro’s funeral.

It was immediately followed by Lance’s voice, “FIREBUG!”

Everyone scrambled to the front door, where Allura stood on the porch, her arms folded over her chest and her lips pursed as Lance and the Fire Witch dueled on the front lawn. The Fire Witch shot flames out towards Lance, which barely licked the grass in front of him, and Lance retaliated, lashing out with whip-like ropes of water courtesy of the neighbor’s bird-bath fountain.

“Allura, what the heck is going on?” Hunk demanded.

“Apparently, Lance is not good at charming Fire Witches,” She said simply.

Coran frowned as he studied the Fire Witch. “Keith?” He mumbled. Then, louder, “Keith!”

The Fire Witch froze, whirling around to the porch, clenching his fists, flames disappearing in seconds. He pointed at Lance and yelled, “Coran, do you know this person?” Then, his violet eyes widened as he noticed who else was on the porch. “Shiro! What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“Uh, no. I’m dead. I don’t think that counts as ‘okay’,” Shiro said, frowning. “How do you know me?”

“And how do you know Coran?” Hunk asked.

“And who the hell are you?” Lance demanded irritably, his rope of water curled at his side like a lasso.

Coran stepped down off the porch to the man’s side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “This is Keith Baker. I’m his supervisor and mentor at the library.” To Keith, he asked, “What brings you here?”

“I came here to get help finding Shiro,” Keith said, his eyes never leaving Shiro. “But I see that my task is now moot.”

Pidge took a protective step on front of Shiro, shielding him with her tiny body. Sure, she had only known the guy for about an hour, but if anything happened to this dead-and-or-undead man, she would kill everyone and then herself.

She made a mental note to herself that perhaps she should stop binge-watching _Brooklyn Nine Nine_.

Then she made a mental strike to that note because _Brooklyn Nine Nine_ was quality television and binge-watching that show was never a not good idea.

“Stand down, Shrimp,” Keith snapped, eyes narrowing at Pidge. “I’m not going to hurt my best friend. However, I am going to rescue him from you psychopaths.”

“Hey! You’re the one who came here and started attacking people!” Lance pointed out. “In fact, we might not have had to kidnap Shiro if you hadn’t started attacking us.”

“But you did,” Keith snapped. “Shiro, come on, I promised Mitsu and Shinji I’d get you home. We’ll figure this out.”

“I… I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Shiro admitted. “Or who you are. So I’m not inclined to go with you.”

Keith frowned. “You… You don’t know your own siblings names?”

“Whatever happened to bring him back to life took his memories,” Pidge said. “We think. Not that we have any idea what brought him back to life in the first place.”

Keith turned his attention back to her. “What kind of Witch are you?”

“I’m not,” Pidge said, crossing her arms over her chest. “My mom’s a Green Witch and my dad’s an Air Witch, and so is my brother, but I’m neither. I’m not a Witch at all. I’m a normie.”

“You raised my best friend from the dead,” Keith countered. “I think that says otherwise.”

Pidge huffed. “Did you not hear me? I’m not a Witch. I’ve never showed signs of magic before, and never will. I am. Not. A Witch.”

“That is… not necessarily true,” Coran said, leaning on the porch railing. “While it is universally acknowledged that there are seven types of magic, with each Witch having an affiliation for one. In addition to divination and healing magic—Seers and Blood Witches—there are five elemental types: Fire, Water, Air, Green, and Gem. However, there has been historic evidence in ancient Witch texts that there could be a rare, powerful eighth type of Witchcraft. One that has not been seen in any Witch for millennia.” He turned slowly towards Pidge, his usually bright and jovial eyes grim. “Necromancer. A Witch who can raise the dead.”

Despite the warmth of the Charleston sun, Pidge felt a chill go through her.

Necromancer.

“No,” She said, shaking her head. “There’s no way I’m a Witch. Definitely not that. There’s go to be another explanation.”

“Yeah, there’s always signs of Witchcraft when kids are young. Pidge is a grown woman,” Shay said.

“Can any of you think of a better explanation?” Coran asked. At the silence, he turned to Alfor. “Did you not witness Shiro die?” Alfor nodded. To Keith, Coran asked, “Did you not see any signs of life in Shiro in the last twenty-four hours?”

Keith frowned, but shook his head. “No. No breathing, cold skin. He couldn’t have survived without food or water for that long, either.”

“So I am dead.” Shiro said gravely. “Very, very, very dead…”

“And I’m a Witch,” Pidge mumbled, numb. “Who can bring back the dead.”

At that moment, five police cruisers pulled up to the front of the house, lights flashing and uniformed officers spilling out of the vehicles.

“Charleston PD! Everyone put your hands where I can see them!” A female officer yelled.

“Veronica?” Lance said, even as he put his hands above his head.

The officer froze and stared at Lance with wide eyes, her gun lowering slightly. “Lance? What the hell?”

“Officer Ramirez, do you know this guy?” A officer with sandy hair and glasses asked as he cuffed Keith, who protested slightly.

“Hey! I’m innocent here, Adam!” Keith snapped.

“We got a call of two Witches disturbing the peace,” A tall dark-skinned man said as he stepped forward. From what little Pidge knew about police uniforms (see: _Brooklyn Nine Nine_ being the best show ever to grace television screens across the globe), this was the highest ranking officer there.

“Mrs. Greene…” Allura hissed in irritation as Alfor shook his head in exasperation.

The high ranking officer glanced at Lance and then said to the female officer, “Officer Ramirez, your relationship to this man?”

Officer Ramirez—otherwise known as Lance’s older sister, Veronica—glanced at Lance, then said with a straight face, “Captain Iverson, I have never seen this man before in my life.”

Even as he was being escorted to a cruiser, Lance let out a cry of outrage. “I’m _so_ telling Mom you said that!”

“Never seen him before in my life,” Veronica repeated, grim faced.

Captain Iverson didn’t seem to care as he ascended the front porch stairs, pulling out a pair of handcuffs as he approached Pidge, who gulped.

“Katelyn Holt, you are under arrest for disturbing the peace, absconding with a corpse, and being an unregistered Witch,” Captain Iverson said, putting handcuffs on Pidge. “You have the right to remain silent.”

It was official, Pidge thought as she was led to the cruiser.

Worst. Birthday. Ever.


	4. Chapter 4

“Let me get this straight,” Captain Iverson said as he sat across from Pidge at the interrogation table. “You really expect me to believe that you never knew that you were a Witch, despite having Witches for parents and your older brother being a Witch?”

“Magic skips sometimes,” Pidge mumbled. “I really did not know. That I was rushing into a funeral or that I was a Witch. I swear, Captain. And kidnapping Shiro was kind of an accident.”

“ ‘Kind of an accident’,” Iverson repeated, narrowing his eyes. “How does one kidnap someone as an ‘accident’?”

“Well, now, if I could explain that, it wouldn’t be by accident, right?” Pidge asked hopefully, giving him a small smile.

Iverson did not look amused. “Miss Holt, given your circumstances and being a first time offender, I’ll let you off on a warning on the disturbing the peace and kidnapping charges, but you will be fined for being an unregistered Witch. I will follow up with you and if you have not at least begun the filing of the required paperwork by the end of the month, I will have you arrested.”

“And my friends?” Pidge asked hopefully.

“Mr. Ramirez and Mr. Baker will be fined for disturbing the peace with their duel, but that is mostly due to there being no property damage and the insistence of the homeowners, as well as the very convincing Miss Altea-Smythe’s defense.” Captain Iverson let out a small hiss, looking suddenly much more irritable as he said, “I thought lawyers were bad. No, law students are infinitely worse. Full of optimism and stubbornness and plucky attitudes…”

“And… Mr. Williams, Miss Balmera and Miss Altea-Smythe?” Pidge asked.

“They will not face any charges or be fined,” Iverson said with a sigh. “You’re free to go, Miss Holt.”

Pidge jumped to her feet and went towards the door, but paused, looking back at Iverson sitting at the desk, looking pensive. “Captain Iverson?”

“Yes, Miss Holt?” Iverson asked with a sigh.

“What will happen to Shiro?” She asked.

“Detective Shirogane will be released to his next of kin,” Captain Iverson said. “They have not requested for an restraining orders to be filed, if that is what you are concerned about.” He looked over his shoulder at her and said sharply, “You are dismissed, Miss Holt.”

Pidge left the room.

*****

“I can’t believe you arrested me out of spite, Adam,” Keith spat, tugging uselessly on the handcuff that attached him to the desk.

“I had probable cause,” Adam responded, not looking up from his paperwork.

“Yeah, but mostly spite,” Keith snapped.

“Like we both didn’t know that eventually you’d end up cuffed to my desk,” Adam said, writing something down.

“That sounds dirty,” Keith retorted. “I knew you were a dirty cop.”

“Adam, Captain said he’s free to go,” Veronica said as she walked over. She did a double-take, looking over at Shiro, then she groaned and rubbed her eyes. “God, Shiro. I’ve been imagining you’ve been sitting at that desk for the last five days. Now you’re actually there and…”

“Surprise,” Shiro said dryly. “I’m back from the dead. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Well, your sense of humor has outlived you,” Veronica said, perching on the edge of the desk.

Adam groaned and reached his hand under his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “V…”

“Given that Shiro’s sense of humor was pretty nihilistic when he was alive, I think it is finally appropriate after death,” Veronica informed him.

“Hello, supposed-to-be free man still unfairly chained to desk here,” Keith said, jingling the links on the handcuffs. “This is homophobic.”

Adam looked up sharply from his paperwork. “Keith, I’m gay, too. So explain to me exactly how this is homophobic?”

“Because I’m gay and this inconveniences me!” Keith snapped.

Adam plucked something off his belt, met Keith’s eye, and tossed it across the room. The small object—the key to the handcuffs, Shiro realized—clattered to the ground near the water cooler. Coldly, Adam said, “If you want to be free, go get it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, West?” Keith spat. “Do you know what kind of day I’ve had?”

“Do you know what kind of day _I__’ve_ had?” Adam responded, anger in his voice.

In response, Keith gnashed his teeth then started playing with the cuff around his wrist, mumbling under his breath. Shiro wasn’t exactly sure what language Keith was mumbling to himself in, but he knew it wasn’t English.

Shiro frowned. Did alive-Shiro know languages other than English? Had alive-Shiro lived in places other than America?

“Ignore them,” Veronica said in a stage-whisper to Shiro. “They’re idiots.”

“I am in mourning,” Adam said, not looking up from his paperwork again. “Because my idiot partner died and his funeral was today. I wouldn’t even be here if some stupid idiot friend of my idiot partner hadn’t gotten himself arrested.”

“You’re the one who arrested me, Adam!” Keith snapped.

“Well, recent events indicate that you don’t have to mourn anymore,” Shiro said. “If that helps.”

Adam paused, his face obscured slightly. Softly, he said, “It doesn’t.”

“So you were my partner. When I was alive,” Shiro said. He looked at Veronica. “And you’re a detective, too?”

Veronica frowned and scuffed the toe of her boot on the floor slightly. “No. Because Chief Trugg has seen to it that I have ‘failed’ all three times I’ve taken the exam. Because the police department was open to the idea of equal opportunity employment for Witches, but only if they never get to any supervisor positions and, God forbid, made detective.”

“Veronica,” Adam hissed, looking at her with wide eyes. “Keep your voice down.”

“No, I refuse to keep my voice down, Adam,” Veronica said, voice hard. “I’ve worked my butt off here, and every time I’ve had an opportunity to advance and prove my worth I’ve been shot down. They failed me but passed that idiot Morvok who is the reason the entire office smells like burnt popcorn every day and, on his first day as detective, crashed into the mayor’s car. All because he’s without magic and I’m a Witch. And now my stupid little brother has screwed everything up for me by getting into a duel with this idiot—” Here, she pointed at Keith, who lifted his head slightly. “—Which means now I’ll most likely never make detective, no matter how much credit you or Shiro have given me on your past cases.”

Shiro frowned. “That’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not.” Veronica agreed irritably. She glanced at Shiro. “So. I guess you’re going to come back to work, then?”

“I don’t know yet,” Shiro said. “I don’t even remember how to do my job, really.”

“You’ll remember. You’re a natural at being a detective,” Keith commented. There was the sound of metal hitting metal and everyone looked over at Keith as he grinned and stood up. The handcuff around his wrist was melted and dangling against the side of the desk.

Glaring at Keith, Adam said, “V, do me a favor and write him a ticket for destruction of police property.”

“I will not,” Veronica said, giving Keith a high-five.

Shiro stood up and walked towards the water cooler. He picked up the small key on the ground, studying it. Then he walked back towards the trio. His friends and co-workers. He stopped in front of Adam’s desk, holding out the handcuff key.

Shiro and Adam stared at each other, silently. There was something in Adam’s expression that made Shiro concerned. Not worried for his safety or that he thought he was being judged, but concerned for the man in front of him. Adam had this look like his entire world was destroyed. That nothing would be right again.

But whatever made Adam have that expression, it was something he could remember.

Shiro could not say the same.

“I need to know what happened leading up to my death,” Shiro said. “If you and I were partners, then you must know.”

Adam’s face became stony, unreadable suddenly, and he took the key from Shiro.

“9-1-1 caller found you, unconscious, in an alleyway,” Adam said. “EMTs arrived and took you to MUSC.”

“Was it in an unusual area for me to be in off-duty?” Shiro asked.

Adam and Veronica exchanged a glance.

“That’s the thing,” Veronica said, folding her arms over her chest. “You were off-duty. But we think you were investigating something.”

“Something… that might involve Witches.” Adam added. “At least, that’s what V and I think. Top brass won’t hear anything of it, but we think something is fishy.”

“How do you figure?” Keith asked.

“Because when Shiro clocked out that day, he looked like a man on a mission. We knew you were looking into some older case files, a cold case, something you worked on in your down time,” Adam told Shiro. “You never would tell us which one. But I think you had a breakthrough about it. You didn’t tell us where you were going, and you left your car here in the lot.”

“I don’t understand, what does that have to do with the case involving Witches?” Shiro asked.

“Because,” Veronica said, getting on her feet and walking towards a cardboard box in the corner. “After you passed, we had to get all of your open case files off of your work computer so they could go to someone else. Except, when the IT guys turned it on…”

She picked up the box, carried it over, and plunked it on Shiro’s empty desk. Shiro peered inside, frowning. Keith reached in and picked up the burnt computer tower. The smell was acrid, like burning plastic and rotten eggs.

“Your computer literally caught on fire,” Adam said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not a very tech-savvy guy, but I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.”

“IT gave a couple of logical reasons why it happened, and Chief Trugg and the rest bought it,” Veronica said. “But I don’t.”

“Why not? Why do you think it was Witches?” Shiro asked.

“You can’t feel it,” Keith mumbled, turning the tower over in his hands. “The magic. Someone used magic on this. A Witch always knows when magic has recently been used. They can smell it. Feel it. That’s how we know when we meet a fellow Witch. We feel their magic.”

“Adam and Captain Iverson are the only people, until now, to believe me that there is magic surrounding this piece of evidence,” Veronica said. She looked at Shiro. “Chief Trugg refused to let us investigate, and has brushed us off as grieving and wanting to find answers to make sense of your death. Which is really weird.”

“Why is that weird?” Shiro asked.

“Chief Trugg is notoriously a Magic-phobe,” Adam answered, leaning his arms on his desk. “The fact that we were basically accusing some Witch of killing you should have made his day. He built his career on Witch hunts, and was infamously bitter when the mayor approved of Witches in emergency and public service fields. He would have loved a reason to go after Witches, especially if he could do it in the name of vengeance for a fallen officer.”

“Wait,” Shiro said, frowning. “You two don’t believe that how I died was an accident, then?”

Adam and Veronica exchanged a look, then Adam said slowly, “We’re not sure. Your parents didn’t want an autopsy, and Iverson didn’t want to go against their wishes. We didn’t want to push for one. Everything matched being struck by lightning, and there was no sign of foul play. No bruises, no defensive wounds, no skin under your fingernails, nothing that aroused suspicion. All things that Trugg reminded us of when we brought up the computer.”

Shiro thought for a moment, then asked, “Could Trugg have put someone else on the case? Someone not as close to me, and definitely not another Witch? He might have thought if Veronica or another officer who is a Witch was involved in the investigation, they might tamper with evidence to disprove that I was murdered by a Witch.”

“We’ve been bouncing theories for days, but Chief Trugg has done his best to keep us busy,” Veronica said. She glanced over at Shiro. “I don’t know what you started messing with, but at this point I think it is larger than you.”

Shiro frowned and stared at the blackened computer.

What had he been investigating?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early to say, Happy Halloween!

“Well, Kit-Kat, no one can say you don’t party hard on your birthday,” Matt said gleefully as Colleen placed a plate of cake in front of Pidge.

“Matthew, be nice to your sister,” Colleen chided.

“So Katie can get arrested but I can’t tease her about it? I see how it goes,” Matt said, leaning back in his chair with a small pout.

Pidge frowned and stuck a fork into her cake slice. “It’s not like I was doing anything really illegal or anything. I just… wasn’t a registered Witch.”

And crashed a funeral and raised a guy from the dead, but whatevs.

She ate a bite of cake, thinking about that fact. She still couldn’t wrap her head around it. She was twenty-three years old—way too old to have magic develop, right?

Pidge set down her fork, lacing her fingers together as she rested her elbows on the table. “Mom? Are you… are you surprised? About this?”

Colleen sighed and sat down, trailing the tines of her fork through the frosting on her slice of cake. Pidge had seen her mother rapidly age in the last eight years, since her father had been missing. The blonde hair turning gray, the crows feet, the bags under her eyes… But she hadn’t looked as tired as she did now. Pidge couldn’t remember the last time her mother looked this tired, even after her longest days that begun before dawn at her position as head gardener at one of the nearby plantation homes that the tourists loved to visit. “That’s a good question, Katie. Necromancy… I understood it when Coran explained it to me down at the station, but believing it… Well, that’s another thing entirely. Especially believing that anyone, let alone my own daughter, is a Necromancer.”

“But it has to be someone else,” Pidge insisted. “It couldn’t have been me. Not really. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that Matt and I can now distinctly feel your magical signature,” Colleen said. “Something we never did before.”

“I mean, we would have known if Pidge is a Necromancer—or had any kind of magic develop late—before she was born, right?” Matt added, sipping his coffee. “You and Dad went to see Gramma Della. She Saw Pidge’s future.”

“She did,” Colleen said. “And I’m wondering if we didn’t understand at the time all of the things she told us.”

Gramma Della was Hunk’s great-grandmother, a renowned Seer. Though the blind Gullah woman could usually be found at the historic Charleston Market, selling her sweetgrass baskets, most of her income came from telling Witch parents what type of magic their unborn child would wield, carrying on a tradition that had been in her family line for generations. Divination was a rare enough form of magic, but it was even rarer to find a Witch who can channel their powers in a certain way; Seeing the magic of the unborn was a skill that few Seer Witches could perform. Expecting Witch parents from all over the South would make a pilgrimage to Gramma Della and ask her to See their child’s future. Pidge knew her parents had gone to see Gramma Della during both of her mother’s pregnancies, and that her grandparents had done the same. It was as much a Southern tradition to seek out this family of Gullah Seers as Friday night football, sweet tea, and shrimp and grits.

All her life, Pidge had known that Gramma Della had Saw that Pidge would have no magic. The story had always been accompanied with a comforting reminder that the Gullah Seer had promised that Pidge would find true love, that she would change the world, and that she would possess her own unique magic. All uplifting thoughts and assurances that she didn’t need to be able to wield an element or See the future to be special.

“But Gramma Della specified that we would never see signs of magic from you, Katie.” Colleen said. “Not like any we were familiar with.”

Pidge frowned in thought. “Well, if I am a Necromancer, then it wouldn’t be a magic you and Dad were familiar with. No one would be.”

“But why not come out and say that Pidge is a Necromancer then?” Matt asked.

“Gramma Della said that she Saw nothing with Katie,” Colleen said. She sighed and looked at Pidge. “If you want answers, she’s who you’re going to have to talk to.”

Pidge nodded. “I can do that.”

“In the meantime,” Matt said. “What’s going to happen with your new pet zombie?”

“I released him back to the wild,” Pidge said. “With his own family. We may never see each other again.”

She just hoped he was happy.

*****

Pidge let out an ‘ooph’ as a small projectile wrapped around her waist, a small head colliding with Pidge’s stomach. She just barely was able to keep her hands on the cake box.

“Aunt Pidge!” Stella cried out, grinning up at her with her gap-toothed smile, her sapphire blue eyes bright and shiny. “You’re Rapunzel!”

“I’m… What?” Pidge said, confused, looking over at Lance and Hunk on the couch.

“Rapunzel,” Hunk said. “Like from _Tangled_.”

“I’m familiar with the film,” Pidge said. “But my hair is nowhere near as long and definitely not as magical.”

Her hair, in fact, was the least magical thing about her. It frizzed in the humidity (in South Carolina, ‘humid’ wasn’t even a word to describe the day’s weather; it was just simply always adjacent to the day’s current weather), and no amount of product could even begin to tame the infamous Holt Hair.

“But you brought someone back to life!” Stella said, bouncing around Pidge as she made her way over to the kitchenette. “Just like Rapunzel did with Eugene!”

“Yeah, but I kind of did it by accident,” Pidge said, even though Stella didn’t listen to her, now singing the ‘I See the Light’ song from the film and twirling about the kitchen, her tutu—sapphire blue today—swishing as she did so. She glanced over at Lance and raised her eyebrows slightly, lifting the cake box just enough and tilting her head towards Stella. Lance nodded and held his thumb and index finger a bit apart. Pidge nodded and asked, “Hey, Stella, you want a slice of cake?”

“Yes!” Stella said, then whipped around to Lance, jutting out her lower lip. “Please, Papi?”

“A small slice,” Lance told her. “And only because it’s been a long day and it’s Aunt Pidge’s birthday. You eat it, then go brush your teeth and get into bed. One bedtime story. Got it?”

“Uh huh!” Stella said, nodding.

“Lance? Hunk?” Pidge offered.

“Yes, please,” Hunk said, coming into the kitchenette. “I’ll serve up the slices. Four slices of cake, coming right up.”

“Only three,” Pidge said. “I had some over at my Mom’s.” She paused, then said, “Hey, Hunk? Do you think if I called over at Gramma Della’s right now, she’d still be up?”

“Possibly. Why?” Hunk asked as he got out the cake knife.

“I had a few questions for her,” Pidge explained, heading towards her room. She paused at the doorway, turned around and said, “Hey, Hunk? Lance? Thanks. For everything today. Sorry I got you arrested.”

“It’s cool,” Lance said with a nonchalant wave. “Wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.”

“But, next year?” Hunk said, handing Stella her plate. “Can we just watch _Star Wars_ or something?”

“Deal,” Pidge said before entering her room. She changed out of her, well, pajamas and into… another pair of pajamas. She frowned as she realized that she had spent the entire day sans bra. Which, admittedly, on most days would be seen as a victory. But, at the same time, she had left the apartment, gatecrashed a funeral, _and_ gotten arrested without a bra. Her only consolation was that no one seemed to have noticed. However, this was also her only woe, given that her chest barely fit in a Juniors-sized A-cup.

In clean clothes and settled, Pidge grabbed her cellphone and found Gramma Della’s number. She listened to the phone ring, and then a low female voice with a heavy Gullah accent said,

“Hello, Katie Holt. Nice of you to call.”

This surprised Pidge, who sat up straight in bed. “Did you See that I was going to call you, Gramma Della?”

This made Gramma Della snort with laughter. “No, darlin’. I’ve got that new-fangled caller ID.”

Pidge felt her cheeks heat and she settled back onto the bed some. “Right. Okay, yeah.”

“I save my Seein’ for bigger things,” Gramma Della added. “But I thought you’d wanna talk to me. All the best gossip in town has been about one little Witch who raised a cop from the dead this afternoon. Seems like you caused quite a bit of a stir.”

“You knew it was me?” Pidge asked, which somewhat confirmed her initial suspicions.

“My darlin’ boy’s Mama told me, when he called her from the police station,” Gramma Della told her. “No Seein’ involved there, either. But I’m guessin’ by this call you think otherwise.”

That was Gramma Della for you: equal parts vague and direct.

“Why didn’t you tell my parents that I was a Necromancer?” Pidge asked. “When they came to see you before I was born.”

Gramma Della clucked her tongue. “I never foretold anythin’ about you, Little Miss Katie. Not. A. Thing.”

Pidge frowned. “Yes, you did. My Mom told me you Saw something. About how I would possess my own unique magic.”

“You’re right. I told your Mama and Daddy that. But I Saw nothin’.”

“But, Gramma Della, that can’t be,” Pidge said, starting to get frustrated. “You told them about me. That I’d be without magic like theirs. That my own would be unique.”

Gramma Della was quiet for a moment, then she said, “I’m gonna say this once more, Katelyn Holt: I told your parents somethin’, yes. But I Saw nothin’ ‘bout your future that day your Mama and Daddy came to see me. But I am not one bit surprised about your magic. Not one little bit. Good night, Katelyn. And happy birthday.”

With that, there was the tell-tale bonk of the phone on the other end being hung up.

Pidge sat in silence, processing what she had just been told, frowning.

Gramma Della… hadn’t been able to See anything about Pidge’s future?

Pidge plugged her phone into the charger and set the alarm before throwing herself back on her bed, staring at the stained ceiling.

She threw her arm over her eyes and groaned.

Well. The worst day of her life is over, and there was no way it could get and worse.


	6. Chapter 6

Shiro followed Keith and Adam to the waiting area of the station. He paused at the doorway, studying the four people dressed in all black. His family. Keith had filled him in. His parents, Okaa-San and Otou-San. His younger brother, Shinji, a college student studying at the University of South Carolina in Columbia. His younger sister, Mitsu, a high-school junior. He had no memories of them, and was worried about how they would react to him. After all, his mother had fainted upon seeing him sit up in his coffin.

Keith had assured him that they wanted to see him, that—while stunned—they were relieved that he was alive again. Or, somewhat alive again. Keith had told him that he had promised his Shinji and Mitsu that he’d bring Shiro back to him, and would let nothing stop him. Not even getting arrested, apparently.

But now, Shiro stood there awkwardly, in his white kimono with the empty sleeve, in grass-stained tabi socks. He was vaguely aware that he had been wearing shoes at one point, but they had most likely been lost on the floor of the church in his scramble out of his coffin. Or had he lost them in Hunk’s car? Had his good Asian son instincts kicked in and he removed his shoes entering the Altea-Smythe household?

He felt… out of place. Would being reunited with his family help him remember that place?

Four pairs of eyes looked over at him, two pairs of dark brown while another two were his own gunmetal gray.

“Takashi…” The older woman muttered, rising from her chair, her husband’s hand holding hers still. She let go of his hand, rushing over to Shiro, gently raising her hands to his face, her fingertips brushing skin.

Shiro resisted the urge to lean into her warm fingers. Her flesh was so warm compared to his. She did not seem to care, cupping his cheek with her hand, tears flowing out of her eyes.

“It is you, my son,” Okaa-San said, embracing him as she sobbed.

Shiro felt himself wrapped in more embraces, couldn’t help but laugh as he heard Keith squawk slightly as he was dragged into the embrace as well, and Adam, too.

Mitsu and his mother held on tight to Shiro as they broke apart, the two women leading him to the door towards the parking lot with Keith and Shinji.

But Shiro heard a conversation behind him, one he wasn’t sure he could have heard before.

“—joining us?” His father whispered to Adam.

“No,” Adam said, voice grave. “No, I… No. Takashi needs ya’ll right now. Ya’ll need him. And I… I still need time. To process.”

“Adam, you know you’re always welcome at our house,” Otou-San said, voice still low but warm. “Nothing has changed that.”

“Arigato, Otou-San,” Adam said, voice wavering slightly. “But everything has changed. Changed long before this happened.”

The door closed behind him, and Shiro could hear no more.

*****

Twenty minutes later, Shiro was getting out of another car in front of another house. He was led inside and Okaa-San sent everyone upstairs to change out of their funeral attire while she warmed up leftovers.

Shiro stood in the entryway, just looking around, soaking in everything. The pictures on the wall, the furniture, how it smelled, how the light reflected off the wood floor. He noticed a small shrine set up in the living room. A portrait of himself sat on it, with incense and a bowl of rice and flowers.

Shinji noticed what Shiro was staring at and he put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Come on. Keith and some of our cousins packed up your apartment yesterday. Brought everything to your old room. Let’s get you out of this kimono and into something more comfortable.”

Shiro followed Shinji up the stairs, and watched from the doorway as Shinji cut open a box marked **CLOTHES** with a utility knife, pulling out a pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt that read **POLICE** across the back in reflective silver.

Shinji laid the clothes on the bed, then glanced at Shiro’s empty sleeve. “Uh, do you want help?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Shiro said quickly. He wasn’t actually sure if he could do it on his own, but he was feeling oddly protective of his body. This would be the first time he could actually see and catalog and process what his body had been through. How bad the injuries were that took his life.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted his brother—or anyone—to see his body. He was already feeling uncomfortable with the idea of strangers having worked on his body. Stripping him of clothing in the back of the ambulance, on Dr. Altea’s emergency room table, on a slab in the morgue. Morticians dressing him for his funeral. He had never thought about the indignities that came with death before. Then again, he had never been dead before.

Shiro hesitated, then said, “Shinji? Can I… ask you some questions that are somewhat uncomfortable? About what happened… after I died?”

Shinji nodded. “Yeah. Probably better me or Keith than anyone else.”

“Was I… embalmed?” Shiro asked, the words coming out somewhat strangled.

“No,” Shinji answered, shaking his head. “Mom and Dad wanted everything to be as traditional as possible. For you to be cremated after the funeral service. So since you died, you’ve been either in the morgue or on dry ice. The people at the funeral home were really nice about that. But, no, you’re not full of formaldehyde, or anything like that. But your body hasn’t started decaying either, necessarily.” Suddenly, Shinji groaned and rubbed his forehead. “We’re all going to need therapy for this…”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro said, unsure what else to say.

“Don’t be,” Shinji told him. “It’s just… everything was feeling surreal, ever since I got the call to come home, that you were dead. And now it feels even more surreal. Like, you’re a hallucination courtesy of the denial phase of the grieving process. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re thinking and feeling.”

Shiro tugged on the empty sleeve of his kimono. “Right now… I’m thinking about all the things I don’t know, and thinking about all the things I don’t know that I would have known. And how I don’t know how to move forward without knowing what is behind me.”

Shinji crossed the room and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve got us to help you with that. Of all the things to not forget, that is the most important. We’ll figure it out, one step at a time. Okay?”

Shiro gave him a weak smile. “Okay.”

“Any other uncomfortable questions you want to ask?” Shinji asked.

“For now? No. I’ll just go ahead and change.”

Shinji nodded, then left the room. Shiro closed the door behind him, then began stripping out of the kimono until he was naked.

He stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection, his own pale flesh. He found a small scar on his abdomen that was well healed—appendectomy, he assumed by the placement. There was another scar along his knee, but that appeared only a superficial injury, not a surgery scar. He had defined muscles everywhere: his abs, his arms, his legs. If there was one thing he was certain of, all modesty aside, it was that he was the world’s most attractive zombie. Granted, he was also the world’s only zombie.

He trailed over the scar on his face with a finger. He studied the scarring on the stump of his arm, unhealed and raw, his body having started to decompose instead of heal. He couldn’t find any other recent injuries, but wondered if whatever magic brought him back also healed the injuries that killed him.

With a sigh, Shiro dressed and descended down to the kitchen. He could smell all sorts of good things: spices and meat and rice and vegetables.

His mouth didn’t water, nor did his stomach growl. But the food smelled good.

“So,” Mitsu said as she helped serve up bowls of rice. “My friends have kind of been blowing up my phone this afternoon.”

“Why?” Keith asked as he helped carry dishes to the kitchen table.

“Apparently, someone got everything after Takashi woke up on film,” Mitsu explained. “It’s all over social media and the news and stuff.” As she sat down at the table, she looked at Shiro. “Did that girl ever say why she what she was objecting?”

“Pidge thought she was interrupting a wedding,” Shiro answered.

“Do you think Adam could give us her name and phone number? Or her address?” Okaa-San asked, waving her hands slightly to indicate to the group to start eating. “Or can he not give out that information?”

“Why would you want that information?” Shinji asked as he filled his bowl up with meat and vegetables.

“I want to talk to her. Thank her.” Okaa-San said with a nod of approval. She glanced over at Keith. “Is she a Blood Witch? Is that how she saved Takashi when the doctors couldn’t?”

Keith grimaced and shook his head. “No. Blood Witches are good at healing, but they can’t bring someone back to life. Coran, my boss—he’s an Air Witch—he thinks—”

Keith was suddenly cut off as Shiro started gagging, clapping his hand to his mouth and pushing away from the table. Shiro ran over to the sink and spat out his mouthful of food, heaving slightly, his hand clenched around the edge of the sink.

“Takashi?” Otou-San asked, voice full of concern and surprise, rushing over to his side. “What’s—”

“Something’s wrong,” Shiro gasped out.

“Are you in pain?” Otou-San asked, carefully wrapping his arm around Shiro’s waist.

Shiro shook his head. “No, I don’t… Not… The food. It smells right. It looks right. But it tastes… It tastes wrong.”

“It tastes fine, there’s nothing wrong with the food,” Mitsu said soothingly from where she stood at the table, wringing her hands. “Everything’s cooked all the way through, and—”

“No,” Shiro said, shaking his hand, extracting himself from his father’s hold, shakily leaning against the counter. “No, it tastes wrong. It tastes like nothing and something horrible all at once. There’s nothing wrong with the food. There’s something wrong with _me_. I can’t taste it right. I can’t eat it.”

Shiro swallowed and stared at his bare feet, the skin so pale and gray that he knew he looked exactly like what he was: a corpse.

“I can’t breathe. I can’t eat. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I don’t _have_ a heartbeat,” He murmured. “I can’t do anything that means I am alive. Because I’m not.” He looked up at the alarmed and worried faces of his family and best friend. “And I don’t know what to do.”

When there were no readily offered suggestions or assurances, Shiro pushed himself away from the counter and left the silent kitchen.

Pidge brought him back to life. She didn’t mean to, but she did. That much he knew.

And he didn’t know what that would mean for his future.


	7. Chapter 7

“_You__’re firing me_?” Pidge screeched incredulously.

“Now, please, Katelyn, don’t cause a scene,” Her boss, Mr. Pickens, said with a sigh, giving smiles to the other programmers who were looking up curiously from their cubicles.

Pidge’s ire grew because if he hadn’t wanted a scene, then he should have called her to his office instead of coming up to her cubicle and told her she was fired in front of all her coworkers.

Also, if she was fired, he no longer could tell her what to do.

“I’m your best programmer, I work extra hours, I’ve only taken a few weeks of leave ever, and the only time I’ve not come in without requesting time off in advance was when I had the flu—and that was because Jeff told me to go home and not come back until I was better,” Pidge said, ticking things off on her fingers. “And I’ve not only completed most of the work for the Waterman Project, I’ve taken the lead, and we are far ahead of where we were initially scheduled to be. Why the hell are you firing me?”

“Katelyn, look,” Mr. Pickens said soothingly. “Yes, you’re a hard worker, and frankly brilliant. But you’re not exactly the type of employee that Pickens Solutions needs. Your true colors showed yesterday and frankly we can’t have someone like you representing our company.”

Pidge’s anger burned through her so brightly, so hotly, that it was cold. “Is this because I’m a Witch?”

“Because you’re a Witch and you lied on your application that indicated otherwise,” Mr. Pickens said.

“I didn’t _lie_, I just didn’t _know_,” Pidge argued. “And that is discrimination!”

“No, it is a legal and just cause for termination,” Mr. Pickens argued back. “You have been known to say that you will kill people before you have coffee. Now that we know that is not hyperbole…”

“George is literally taking a drink from his mug that says ‘Coffee: Because prison orange is not my color’ right now!” Pidge said, pointing across at her coworker, who froze mid-sip, his eyes wide. “But you’re not firing George!”

“George is a model employee,” Mr. Pickens said.

“Because George is a straight white male normie!” Pidge exploded. “And I didn’t kill someone, I did the opposite!”

“Miss Holt,” Mr. Pickens said firmly. “My word is final. You have an hour to pack up any personal belongings and turn in your ID badge to human resources. If you are not out of this building by then, I will have security remove you from the premise.”

With that, he shoved an empty copy-paper box at her. She snatched it from him and watched her ex-boss walk away. She whirled around at the eyes watching her.

“Seriously?” She demanded. “None of you were going to stick up for me? No matter how many of your butts I’ve saved? No matter how many of your projects I’ve helped with?” She glanced at her only female coworker and said, “Sharon, what happened to ‘It’s a man’s world and us girls gotta stick up for each other’, huh?”

Sharon ducked her head immediately. Everyone else quickly followed suit, turning back to their own work. Pidge huffed and swallowed angry, hurt tears, putting the box on her desk chair and starting to pack up her desk. She grabbed her Funko POPs of Princess Leia, Wonder Woman, Hermione Granger and Captain Marvel, the three rubber ducks she kept on her desk (one was her favorite shade of green named Rover, one was an astronaut, and the other was—now ironically—a glow-in-the-dark zombie), her succulents, her collection of pens, her planner, and…

She paused, picking up the photo of her family. Her eyes welled up slightly as she brushed her thumb over the slightly dusty glass, staring at her father’s face.

It was the last family photo they had taken before her father had disappeared when Pidge was fifteen.

Unconsciously, her hand then went to grasp the small gold locket she always wore. While she loved it for its simple design—a flat, round golden disk with a diamond chip in the center, etchings in the disk to make the chip look like a star—it had even more significance as the last thing her father ever gave her, an unexpected gift that he insisted was ‘just because’.

She felt tears well up in her eyes. She missed her dad so much.

Her father had been the one who started her on this career path. He saw her love of math and computers and taught her how to code, given her LEGOs and robotics kits, had been the one who gifted her the rubber duck named Rover, explaining the rubber duck method when she kept coming to him with problems with her code.

She loved it all. She wanted to make her father proud with her career, her passion.

And now it was gone. And so was he. She wasn’t even sure if he was alive anymore, after so long.

She sniffled, putting the photograph in the box.

“Well, this is a sad sight.”

Pidge looked up at Derek as he approached her desk. “I thought you’d be on your honeymoon by now.”

“We’re leaving on the cruise this afternoon,” Derek explained. “We’re having brunch with our families today.”

“So what brought you to the office the day after your wedding?” Pidge asked, trying hard not to feel bitter and even sadder.

“Dad asked me to stop by for a real quick meeting with the Waterman Project client,” Derek said.

Pidge froze. That was her meeting. It was on her planner for today. She looked up at Derek. “You’re… You’re taking over my project?”

Derek stared at her in confusion, then said, “No? It’s always been my project. Thank you for the extra work you put in while I was preparing for the wedding, though.”

No. No, no, no, no, no. This was her project. She had been given the lead. This was the project that would launch her career, maybe earn her a promotion or a raise.

“But… It was assigned to me…” Pidge whispered.

Derek’s brows furrowed, then realization crossed his face. “Oh. Uh, this is awkward…”

“How is this awkward?” Pidge demanded.

“The project was always mine,” Derek explained. “I, uh, asked Dad if he’d ask you to be directly under me. Maybe imply that you have more power than usual. Just until the wedding was behind us. Then I’d get that promotion. After all, I’m a married man now. Gotta support the missus. I knew you’d understand.”

Pidge’s heart was already in pieces. And now it was in microscopic particles. “You… You used me?”

“No, no, we just collaborated—” Derek started to insist.

“Just like we ‘collaborated’ whenever you asked me to take on a bit of your code whenever you damn well pleased?” Pidge demanded. “Just like we’ve always done since we were in college?”

“Come on, Pidge,” Derek said, flashing her that devastatingly handsome grin. “You and I both know you’re the better programmer out of the two of us. You’d be fine on your own. I always needed the help. I can’t tell you how grateful I—”

“Shut up,” Pidge hissed. “Shut up right now. You horrible little snake. I can’t believe—” Her voice trailed off.

Couldn’t believe that he’d used her like that.

Couldn’t believe that he’d tricked her like that.

Couldn’t believe this was the asshole she had been hung up on since freshman year of college.

Couldn’t believe how much time she had wasted, how much emotional energy.

Couldn’t believe that it made her hurt so bad.

She grabbed her box and marched towards the elevator.

She had to pay HR a visit.

*****

Across town, Shiro was also seated in an HR office.

“So, what you’re saying is that I can’t be reinstated?” He asked, shifting uncomfortably, knowing that footsteps slowed and whispers started outside the door to the office. Everyone had come to take a peek at the zombie and the emo biker librarian seated next to him, glaring at all of the passersby.

“Well, I think you’d have to go through the hiring process again,” Gladys said, fiddling with papers. The oldest woman in the office, Gladys had ushered Shiro in without any hesitation or awkwardness, beginning to chat with him and Keith about the weather, college baseball season, and how this weekend it would be a house divided as she rooted for the Gamecocks and her husband for the Citadel. “To be honest, dear, I’m a bit stumped as to how to handle your situation. You have a birth certificate, and you have a death certificate. Obviously, one of those cancels out the other when it comes to hiring.”

“Has the death certificate already been filed through the state?” Keith asked.

“For that, you’ll have to contact the Department of Records in Columbia. They may be able to halt the process, given the circumstances,” Gladys said. She glanced at Shiro sadly. “I’m so sorry, dear, that I can’t give you a better answer.”

“You’ve given me a lot of help, and I’m grateful for that,” Shiro said. “Sorry to be the problematic person today.”

“You’re not a problem, dear, just a puzzle to be solved,” Gladys said. “And I do love puzzles. I’ll call you when I find out more information.”

Shiro and Keith thanked her, then exited the HR building, where Veronica was waiting for them.

“So? Did they give you your gun and badge back?” Veronica asked, shifting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. It was her day off, so she was dressed casually in denim shorts, a tank top with the chorus of the ‘Be a Man’ song from _Mulan_, and a pair of purple Converse.

“Not exactly,” Shiro said grimly.

“We’ve got to get his death certificate canceled, essentially,” Keith explained. “Which most likely means a two-hour drive to Columbia to wait for God-knows how many hours in bureaucratic hell known as the Department of Records. Then the police department can even then begin to consider rehiring him.”

Veronica’s nose wrinkled. “Great. But, hey, there are worse ways to spend a day off than with you two in bureaucratic hell.”

“Thanks for the support, but maybe we should wait until Monday,” Shiro suggested. “Shinji said he was going to drive back up Monday morning, spend the rest of the week down here. I’d kind of like to get my bearings a bit before—”

Suddenly, he paused, his head tilted, like he was listening. He frowned, and then turned on his heel and started walking.

Keith and Veronica exchanged a concerned glance, then started after Shiro.

“Shiro,” Keith called. “Where are you going?”

Shiro didn’t even turn, just called back, “I don’t know. I just know I need to go this way.”

The more he walked, the more he followed the tugging sensation in his chest, the more it began to feel like a heartbeat. Like a tether.

He didn’t know where he was going. But this was the closest he had felt to being alive in the last twenty-four hours.

And something in him told him that he needed to get somewhere fast.

*****

Pidge exited the building, desperately trying hard not to cry.

She just wanted to go home and stuff her face with leftover birthday cake. She was at the point that she might not even use a fork. At least she’d be the only one home to witness her shame, with Lance and Stella at school and Hunk at work. No one to see her just eat it straight out of the box with her fingers.

Pidge sighed and put an edge of the box on her hip, pressing the button at the crosswalk, watching the cars go past.

“Rough day at the office?”

Pidge glanced at the man beside her, blinking once. She hadn’t even noticed him standing there.

He was a thin but broad-shouldered, tall white man, with light brown amber eyes, a sharp nose, and a smile like a shark’s. He was dressed impeccably in a sharp business suit, and looked younger than his white hair suggested, perhaps in his mid-to-late fifties.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Pidge said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the uncomfortable feeling she usually got when strange men started talking to her at random out in public, like when she was on the bus and they wanted her number, or she was getting cat-called just walking down the street. And she felt… something else. Something familiar, but nothing she could place a finger on

“Forgive me,” The man said. “I can see that I’m making you uncomfortable. That is not my intention. However, I do have an offer for you in the way of employment.”

“Yeah, buddy, you just made me even more uncomfortable,” Pidge said, taking a side-step away from him.

“No, it is nothing illegal,” The man insisted. “Forgive me, I’m doing this all wrong. I know who you are, because I am an associate of your father, Samuel Holt.”

Pidge stared at him, dumbfound for a moment. “My… my father? How do you know my father? Who are you?”

“I’ll explain if you just come with me, Miss Holt,” The man said, extending his hand.

Pidge wasn’t born yesterday. Well, technically, she had been, but twenty-three years prior to that.

So naturally, she said, “Um, I’m sorry, I’m supposed to meet my friends soon. They’ll worry if I don’t show up.”

“Then cancel your plans,” The man instructed.

“No, no, very important plans we have,” Pidge said, starting to back away, putting the box in front of her torso, a barrier between her and him. “So sorry. But if you have, like, a business card or—”

The man’s eyes glinted and Pidge felt herself tense up, the box dropping to the ground, her muscles tight.

She couldn’t move.

The man was a Blood Witch, and he had paralyzed her where she stood.

“This is an offer you can’t refuse, Miss Holt,” The man said, his shark-smile growing bigger. “Literally.”

He grabbed her, and because he had bound her with his magic she couldn’t scream or fight back. She was starting to panic. Who was this man and why was he kidnapping her?

All of a sudden, Pidge felt herself hitting the ground as something large and heavy collided with the man. It was enough to stop the man’s magic from binding her, and Pidge scrambled to her feet to run away. A large shadow suddenly fell over her and she looked up.

She gasped at what she saw before her, though.

It was Shiro, and the space where his amputated arm had been was no longer empty, but occupied by blackness. It was if the darkest part of the sky had come and formed a limb where his flesh had once been, taking on the same shape his arm had been. The more she stared, the more she saw what she could have sworn were diamonds or stars twinkling around his bicep, and at his fingertips were flames of purple.

Pidge knew he was protecting her, and took advantage of that to get to her feet and get away. As she did so, she caught sight of the strange man, who was staring at Shiro with surprise, ire, and a bit of glee.

“So this is your familiar, then, Miss Holt,” The man said. The corner of his mouth twisted upwards. “How _shocking_.”

With a rage-fueled yell, Shiro charged forward.


	8. Chapter 8

Power and rage flowed through his bloodless veins, surged through his arteries, and thundered through his unbeating heart.

Shiro swiped and kicked at the white-haired man, who dodged and weaved, his hands clenching and unclenching. No matter what Shiro did, he couldn’t land a hit on the man, which increased his levels of rage and bloodlust. His fist had hit a lot of things as the man dodged; a hole the size of his fist was in the side of a mailbox, a car alarm screeched as Shiro broke the window, wood splintered where he hit a beam.

However, the man couldn’t land a hit on Shiro, either, or take control of Shiro. This, Shiro took comfort in. No. Pride. It was pride that fueled him along with anger. For he was proud, and he was strong, and he was a force to be reckoned with.

They ignored the car horns as their duel pulled them into traffic, ignored Pidge, Keith and Veronica calling Shiro’s name, ignored the increasing number and volume of sirens.

This man wanted to hurt Pidge. For that, he would pay dearly. Shiro would see to it.

Shiro managed to finally get in a round-house kick that sent the man crashing into the hood of a car, to the distress of the car’s owner, who quickly got out of the car and fled.

Shiro grabbed the man by the throat before he could recover, squeezing just enough, pressing the man against the car, his right hand raised, preparing to go in for the kill.

He hadn’t questioned the new arm that had appeared where his flesh ended. He hadn’t questioned what it was made of. He hadn’t questioned how it functioned.

All he knew was, it was a weapon. He was a weapon.

And he would destroy this man.

Shiro aimed for the heart.

“Shiro, stop!”

Shiro froze, his new fingertips inches away from the man’s chest.

He didn’t move, couldn’t move.

He had been told to stop.

So he had.

The man took advantage of this, pushing Shiro off of him with two feet to Shiro’s torso. Shiro stumbled backwards, landing on the asphalt. He blinked and got to his feet, rushing after the man…

A ball of light exploded in front of Shiro, and he raised his left arm to shield his eyes. Once the sparks had died, he looked up, and saw on the corner of the street a woman, the man quickly approaching her.

The woman was draped in a black cloak, her face obscured by a hood, her white hair hanging around her. From below big, billowing sleeves, her weathered brown hands held balls of lightning, crackling and popping and rumbling.

Shiro stared at her, transfixed.

He started to shake.

The woman… he knew her. How did he know her?

Before he could pursue, the woman banished her lightning and grabbed the hem of her cloak, wrapping herself and the man in darkness.

In the middle of the day, on a busy street of Charleston, they disappeared in broad daylight.

Shiro didn’t have time to question the hows and whys and whos and whats of this.

For his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the ground.

*****

“—actually dead? I mean, he doesn’t have a pulse…”

That voice… It was somewhat familiar.

“Yeah, maybe this whole zombie thing was temporary. Twenty-four hours or something.”

Another familiar voice. But still, he couldn’t place a face to the voice, let alone a name to the face.

“He’s still with us. I’m pretty sure.”

That voice… That voice he knew.

That was Pidge.

Shiro groaned and opened his eyes wearily, once again waking up to staring at a white ceiling. This one was lower, though, and textured like popcorn. Where was he?

Shiro slowly sat up, frowning as his hand met a soft and slightly squishy couch cushion.

“Oh, hey, he’s awake.” Hunk said cheerfully. “Guess he’s not dead after all.”

“No, Hunk. He’s still dead,” Allura said with a sigh.

“Shiro!” Keith was by his side in an instant, kneeling down beside the couch. “Are you okay?”

“Ugh,” Shiro groaned, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Ask again later.”

“That’s Hunk’s line,” Lance commented wryly as he set down a tray of water glasses on the coffee table.

“Where am I?” Shiro asked, glancing around. It was an apartment, he realized. He could tell because a glance out the window revealed tree-tops and the setting sun, and the space was cramped. There was a basket of dolls and dress-up clothes in the corner beside the television, and a coffee table in front of him that—judging by how small the kitchen was—was also the dining table.

“You’re at our place,” Lance said, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome to the Casa de la Holt, Ramirez and Williams.”

“We brought you here after you passed out,” Veronica explained from where she sat with criss-crossed legs on the floor.

Shiro frowned slightly. “Where’s Pidge?”

“I’m down here.”

Shiro turned and looked over the back of the couch, frowning down at Pidge, who lay on her back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, her fingers wrapped around a small gold locket. He vaguely remembered it from the day before, her fingers doing this exact same thing as she told Dr. Altea and Coran her story. “Why are you on the floor?”

“The floor understands despair.” Pidge explained dryly.

“Oh.” Shiro said. He nodded. “Mood.”

Suddenly, the corner of Pidge’s mouth twitched and she let out a small snort of laughter. “I don’t think you used that term right.” She sat up and stretched. “No, I was just thinking.”

“And you think best lying on your back on the floor right behind the couch?” Shiro asked, confused.

“Well, usually I do my best thinking in front of a computer screen, but, well, I’m apparently not going to be able to do that anymore,” Pidge said with a sigh.

“Don’t say that, Pidge,” Allura said, coming to stand at Pidge’s feet, offering Pidge a hand to get up. “You’ll find another, better, company to work for. Or freelance. Or start your own company.”

“Yeah, we could be in the presence of the next Steve Jobs,” Lance added encouragingly.

Shiro frowned as Allura helped Pidge to her feet. “You were fired from your job?”

“Yeah, for being an unregistered Witch,” Pidge said with a sigh, dusting herself off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Good, because that’s not what we need to talk about,” Keith said, his arms folded over his chest, eyes hard. “We need to talk about what happened this morning, and what we’re going to do about it.”

“Well, it’s already agreed upon that I’m going to move out,” Pidge said, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“No, you stated that you were going to do so, and Lance and I disagreed,” Hunk argued. “Majority vote wins out.”

“I’m not going to put you two and Stella in harm’s way,” Pidge huffed. “I’d be a sucky godmother if I stayed in the same place as Stella while some creepy weirdo and his Sorceress friend are after me.”

“My mom said that Stella could stay with her until we figured out what is going on,” Lance told her firmly. “Mami won’t let her out of sight, and she’ll always be surrounded by other Witches to protect her.”

“Wait, hang on,” Shiro said, trying to clear his head. “What have I missed? Who is Stella? And did you say Sorceress?”

“Stella is Lance’s daughter, my niece,” Veronica said. She smiled in a sad sort of way. “Which means you’ve definitely forgotten how many photos of her I’ve shown you over the last five years.”

“Sorry,” Shiro said automatically. He didn’t like how that was becoming his default response.

“It’s fine, just means I get to show you all ten million of them to you all over again,” Veronica said, suddenly gleeful.

“Okay, question one of three answered,” Shiro said, glancing around the room.

Keith sighed and spoke next. “After you passed out, Pidge insisted we bring you back here. She then called Hunk and Lance and told them not to come back here, but of course they did anyways.”

“Like we were going to let anything happen to Pidge,” Lance declared. “No creepy guy is going to lay his hands on her again, that’s for sure.”

“So mostly Pidge has been arguing with these two chivalrous idiots, who called me to support their side of the argument and, quote, ‘Use my mad lawyer skills’, unquote, to convince Pidge to stay,” Allura added. “However, Pidge has the more logical side of the argument, though she is refusing my offer to come stay at my home.”

“I’m not putting anyone at risk,” Pidge said, frowning. “I shouldn’t even be here right now.”

“Well you shouldn’t go out with a Sorceress wanting to kidnap you!” Hunk told her.

“What is the difference between a Witch and a Sorceress?” Shiro asked, still feeling lost and confused.

The entire room froze and turned to him slightly. The Witches, he noticed, all looked worried and a bit frightened. Allura grimaced.

“Sorcerers are Witches that went bad,” Pidge explained, her voice soft. “They seek to enhance their powers for whatever reason. Some say that they trade their souls with the devil to do so.”

Lance and Veronica both shuddered and made the sign of the cross while Hunk shivered slightly and made an unfamiliar gesture with his own hands.

“Whether that is true or not, all we know is that Witches who turn to the dark side go to Rell and come back with white hair and the ability to wield a stronger version of their own magic, and another.”

Shiro knew immediately what that magic was. “Lightning…”

Keith nodded.

Allura suddenly frowned and said, “Wait, did you say that these Witches go to _hell _to become Sorcerers?”

“_Rell_,” Keith said, putting emphasis on the ‘r’. “Small island nation in the middle of flipping nowhere in the Atlantic. That’s where the Sorcerers retreated when they got kicked out of Europe, Asia and Africa about sixth century A.D. This was back when Witches were self-governing, before Normies knew about magic. Ironically, it is partially what led to the Dark Ages, as Witches mostly went into hiding after becoming a united front against the Sorcerers.” He scowled. “Rell has essentially been the Witches biggest secret for centuries. Very few Normies know about it. We’re already not trusted, the last thing we want is for Normies to discover we’ve hidden an entire island full of dark magic users from them.”

Lance suddenly looked pensive and asked, “I wonder how common it is nowadays for people to go to Rell, become Sorcerers, then come back like the two who attacked Pidge apparently did. I mean, they’d have to leave their country of origin, disappear for a while, then come back from a country most people have never heard of before. You can’t take a plane there, there are no cargo ships or cruise-liners that make Rell a destination. It’s in the middle of the ocean so there’s no trains…”

“You’d have to sail there on your own, most likely without a crew,” Pidge agreed. “Unless you find a small army of people who say ‘Hey, let’s all go become a real life Lord Voldemort’.”

“No one ever said it was a practical life decision,” Veronica pointed out. “But, at the same time, it seems odd. Go to get more power, come back, and try to keep a low profile. It’s not like there are law enforcement agencies dedicated to keeping dark magic off the streets.”

“Never mind that,” Keith said abruptly. “We’ve gotten off-topic. Now what I want to know—” He picked up Shiro’s right arm, a solid weight in his hands. “—is what this is made of and how it came to happen. And why Shiro knew where to go when Pidge was being attacked.”

“I told you, I just felt like I had to go that way,” Shiro said with a sigh, pulling his arm out of Keith’s grasp. It was blacker than his hair (well, the part that hadn’t turned bright white anyways) and darker than the night sky. And, yet, there were glittering, twinkling stars dotted throughout like half-hearted freckles.

Pidge sat down on the couch beside him and held her hands out, silently asking a question. Shiro wordlessly responded by placing his hand in hers. She ran her fingers over the hand, and Shiro felt a tingling sensation. He wrinkled his nose when Pidge suddenly pinched.

“Ow,” He said, withdrawing his hand. Then he blinked, realizing something. “That’s the first time I’ve felt pain since you woke me up. I didn’t even feel it when I fell out of the coffin, or caught my toe on the door frame this morning.”

“It’s weird,” Pidge said, leaning back on the couch. “It’s warm, compared to the rest of you. Warmer than most human skin, even. It doesn’t exactly feel like flesh, but it’s somewhat soft but still solid.” Her eyes twinkled somewhat as she thought. “I wonder if you have fingerprints. I wonder if they’re the same as your original hand.”

“I’ve got access to his prints and a fingerprinting kit!” Veronica said, grinning.

“Look, as interesting as this is, we’re still very off topic, the most important topic,” Lance said. “Who attacked Pidge and why?”

“Did he give you a name?” Allura asked Pidge.

Pidge shook her head. “Just told me to come with him. And that he knows my father.”

“Wait, knows, not knew?” Hunk asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Pidge said, her fingers returning to play with her locket again. “He was probably lying to me.”

“Have you gone to the police?” Shiro asked. “Given a description of the guy?”

“No offense, but I’m not exactly keen on returning to the police station for the second time in two days,” Pidge told him. “Especially since I don’t want to see your boss again until I’ve gotten officially registered as a Witch. Or, better yet, never.”

“You got Iverson on a bad day,” Veronica said. “He’s not usually that bad. His bark is worse than his bite.”

Pidge sighed and stood up. “Look, one way or another, I’m wasting time. I’m just going to pack a bag of my stuff and head out of town. I’ll leave enough money to cover my part of the rent, and—”

“And you’ll sit your ass down right now, because you’re not going anywhere,” Lance argued, pointing a finger down towards the ground.

“Lance, come on, we both know it’s for the—” Pidge started to say, but was cut off by another voice.

“_The journey begins by going back_,” Hunk said, his voice low and blank, his face expressionless, his warm eyes cold and lifeless. “_For the familiar shall not rest until the past is past. The journey begins by going forward, for the promised one shall need what has been lost to return_.”

While everyone stared at him, Hunk shook his head, as if to wake up from a trance. He looked around at the stunned faces and groaned. “Oh no. Did I See something again?”

“Yeah, buddy, you did,” Lance said, recovering first. “Second time in two days. That’s a new record for you.”

“What did that just mean?” Allura asked hesitantly. “Familiar and promised one?”

“I’d like to know the same,” Keith said, his brows furrowed.

Hunk let out a small scoffing sound and rolled his eyes. “Eh, just forget it. Or, at least, don’t read into it that much. Whatever I See has a weird way of getting twisted in meaning anyway.”

“How so?” Veronica asked.

“Like, yesterday,” Hunk said. “Pidge here left in a big rush to try and stop a wedding based off this ‘fated by destiny’ thing for her that I Saw.”

Keith suddenly leapt to his feet. “Saw yesterday? As in, before you crashed Shiro’s funeral yesterday? As in, before Pidge brought Shiro back to life yesterday? As in, before Pidge knew she was a Witch yesterday? As in, this one thing you didn’t happen to mention at all yesterday?”

“Well,” Hunk said in a small voice. “Yeah? It didn’t seem important.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Keith said, snatching up his red motorcycle jacket and putting it on. “It’s the most important thing to have ever happened. Come on, I need to take you all somewhere.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Veronica asked, getting to her feet.

Keith was at the front door when he turned back and looked around, his voice steely as he said, “A place I might get killed for taking you to, so I wouldn’t take you there unless I was absolutely positive I’m right.”


	9. Chapter 9

Needless to say, after Keith’s proclamation it was a very quiet car ride. Pidge and Shiro sat in the middle row of Lance’s inherited minivan, Stella’s empty car seat between them as a barrier, as Lance followed Keith’s directions from the passenger seat. Behind Pidge, in the third seat, was Hunk, Veronica and Allura. Pidge scuffed the toe of her shoe on the carpet of the minivan, which was coated with glitter, sand, and the occasional french fry. She had never ridden in a car with Lance at the wheel without him blasting Disney soundtracks, a habit he had had since before Stella was born. The quiet was unnerving.

“Pull in here,” Keith said, pointing at a series of empty street parking spaces, a rarity for Charleston but not too rare for the time of day, with the sun having begun to set. Lance pulled into one of the spaces. Keith was out of the car before Lance even had the parking break on.

Pidge got out and frowned slightly. “Circular Congregational Church,” She mumbled. This was one of the oldest congregations in a city full of old churches. It wasn’t Sunday, and there weren’t services going on or any other event by the looks of the grounds. Why had Keith brought them here?

More importantly, what had he done to piss off an entire congregation of churchgoers that might kill him for bringing people here?

Keith stuck his hands in his jacket pockets while he waited for everyone, then wordlessly he walked onto the grounds, towards the cemetery.

Circular Congregational also had the city’s oldest cemetery.

Pidge licked her lips but followed him past the graves, mostly older stones from when the church and city were founded.

She heard fervent whispers behind her, and she froze, whipping around.

“What’s wrong?” Allura asked, brow furrowing.

“Did… were you three whispering?” Pidge asked.

“No?” Lance said slowly, giving her an odd look.

Pidge swallowed, her heart thumping, as she glanced around to see if anyone else was nearby.

Her eyes caught wisps of… something. Steam or fog or mist. Nothing corporeal. But it slowly took the form of a man, wearing a style of clothing she only saw in illustrations in her history textbooks. The man met her eyes, tilted his head at her in confusion, then disappeared again.

A ghost, she realized as she kept walking.

It wasn’t Pidge’s first time seeing a ghost. Charleston was old and consequently was very haunted, and there were several thriving ghost tour operations in the city. Ghost sightings weren’t unheard of amongst Normies and Witches alike.

However, Pidge was suddenly remembering her abundance of childhood imaginary friends. Small children who liked to play, an old woman who helped Pidge sound out words as she read picture books, a man who watched over her shoulder as she did math homework and telling her when she forgot to carry a number.

Ghosts. Not imaginary at all. Ghosts that her parents couldn’t see. Ghosts that she told herself were only her own imagination the older she got, laughing off all the conversations as having an over-active imagination.

If her powers could bring back the dead, could that mean that they also allowed her to communicate with them?

Keith finally stopped at one grave, but Pidge didn’t know how he knew it was there. It was so old and crumbled, it was barely visible in the twilight and the name was definitely illegible.

Keith then reached up to his neck and tugged out a necklace that Pidge hadn’t seen him wearing earlier. On the chain was a small pendant shaped like a sword. Keith removed the necklace, then—to everyone’s surprise—he jabbed the tip of the blade into his thumb.

Even in the low light, Pidge saw blood drip from Keith’s thumb, which he pressed to the stone.

“_Honorem, cognitionis, sapientia, victoria_, _magia_,” He whispered.

Latin, Pidge realized. Keith was speaking Latin.

Keith took a step back and Hunk noisily sucked in a breath as suddenly the stone sank into the ground, the earth before them opening up to reveal a set of polished marble stairs.

Keith began to descend into the darkness.

“We’re not… You’re not… We’re not seriously…?” Hunk gulped.

Pidge took a deep breath and followed Keith, Shiro behind her. As she descended the stairs and heard more footsteps behind her, she heard Hunk say, “Oh, great, so we’re doing this now. This is going to be a thing. We’re just going to keep going to funerals and raising the dead, and in our downtime we’re just going to go down creepy holes in cemeteries. No big deal, totally average Thursday.”

In the dark, the white marble glowed bright even as Pidge heard the entryway close behind them. It was the only light, and the only way to know where the next step was. They continued to descend into the darkness, no sound but their feet on the steps.

Finally, more light appeared and they entered a large round atrium lit with torches, the walls lined with openings to dozens of passageways.

“Keith,” Shiro said softly. “Where exactly are we?”

“Keith is in a great heap of trouble. As for the rest of you, you are in a place you’re not supposed to be.”

They jumped at the deep male voice that echoed through the room.

Pidge inhaled sharply as suddenly three figures appeared, wearing cloaks and black masks with glowing eyes, swords hanging at their hips. The figure who stood in the middle was the tallest, but it was the one on his right side that Pidge took notice of, how their body suddenly stiffened and gloved fingers clenched into a fist.

“Why did you bring them here, Keith?” The figure on the right demanded. There was something familiar about the voice, about the accent that was most definitely not Southern, but with the speaker’s mouth muffled by the mask she couldn’t place it.

“I wouldn’t have broken the Blades’ most central rule without reason, Kolivan,” Keith said, his eyes on the center figure.

“You are already on thin ice, Keith. Your explanation for another blatant disregard for the rules that have protected our order for centuries had better be good.” The central figure snapped.

Keith didn’t turn, merely barked, “Hunk, come here.” Hunk gulped but stepped up beside Keith, who said, “I need you to repeat—word for word—the two prophecies that you have Seen in the last two days.”

Hunk gulped again, and, shakily, said, “The first was yesterday, before Pidge rose Shiro from the dead. ‘_The one with whom you are fated by destiny to spend the rest of your days with is at Second Presbyterian Church on Meeting Street_’. The second one was right before Keith brought us here. ‘_For the familiar shall not rest until the past is past. The journey begins by going forward, for the promised one shall need what has been lost to return._’”

The three figures tensed and the two shorter figures exchanged a glance. The tall figure in the center said slowly, “What is it you are implying, Keith?”

“You know what I’m implying, Kolivan.”

The tall figure, Kolivan, raised his hand, his mask disappearing as he pulled off his hood, revealing the face of an older African-American man with gray eyes and a head shaved bald. Across his left eye, bisecting his eyebrow and running down his cheek, was a pale scar that was like a lightning strike against his dark skin.

“Perhaps,” Kolivan said, his voice even deeper and rumbling—like a thunderclap. “We should test your theory.” He tilted his head at Hunk. “If the vessel is willing.”

“V-vessel?” Hunk repeated nervously.

“Antok,” Kolivan snapped his fingers as he spoke. “Summon the Blades. Emergency meeting.”

The figure on Kolivan’s left nodded and disappeared down a passageway.

“You,” Kolivan pointed at Hunk. “Come with me. And you—” He pointed at Keith. “Go get in your robes.” Keith nodded and disappeared down another passageway. To the remaining figure, he said, “Take the outsiders to the vault and wait.”

As Kolivan led a very nervous Hunk away, Veronica frowned at the remaining hooded figure.

“So… Why should we follow you, Mr. Cloak-And-Dagger? Emphasis on the dagger.” She asked.

“Yeah,” Lance said. “How do we know ‘take them to the vault’ isn’t code for ‘reenact _Cask of Amontillado_’?”

The hooded figure hesitated, then reached up and lowered his own hood, removing his mask

Allura let out a gasp, her eyes wide.

“Coran?” She breathed, stunned.

“Hello, love,” Coran said, smiling at her faintly. “How about we not tell your father about this?”

*****

“So where exactly are we, Coran?” Pidge asked as Coran led them down a passageway.

“The headquarters for the Blade of Marmora,” Coran answered as they walked along the torch-lit hall.

“Which is… what, exactly?” Shiro asked.

“We are a secret Witch organization, devoted to protecting our knowledge, heritage, and history,” Coran explained. “I won’t tell you anymore, so don’t ask me any more questions.”

“Father doesn’t even know?” Allura asked, walking faster to walk beside her stepfather.

“No, my precious one,” Coran said with a sigh. “It is too dangerous for you and your father to know. However, I am fairly certain that my ‘book club’ is a little more intense than the usual. Believe me, more wine would make this whole thing easier. Especially right now.”

“So you’ve been part of this… Blade of Marmora since before you married Father?” Allura pressed.

“Yes,” Coran responded, his voice emphasizing that he wanted her to stop asking questions. “Since I was in college, actually. Before I met Alfor and Melenor. Before… our friendship became more.”

“Are you going to tell Father?” Allura asked. “Now that I know?”

Coran didn’t respond as they stepped into a large room. A wrought iron gate covered in delicate iron roses, with forged vines and sharp, glistening thorns tying the two halves of the gate together.

“What is this?” Shiro asked, frowning.

“The Vault.” Replied a lilting female voice from behind them.

Another hooded, masked figure led more into the antechamber. The only difference between her and the other members of the order was that she had a long blond braid that rested along her torso. Clipped to the end of her braid was a purple and pink butterfly made out of silk. She paused as the other hooded figures slowly took their places around the room, circling the outsiders. Her gaze lingered on Lance for a moment, then she turned her head, her braid swaying, as she went to take her own place.

“What exactly is the Vault?” Veronica asked cautiously.

No one spoke. Coran put his mask back on and his hood up, walking away and taking a place near the entryway.

“Oh my God,” Lance muttered. “We are gonna reenact _Cask of Amontillado_, aren’t we?”

“While the literary reference is appreciated, you will be happy to know that it is not our intention to bury you and your companions alive, Mr. Ramirez.”

Kolivan’s booming voice echoed through the silent chamber. Beside him, barefoot and dressed in a white robe and trembling, was Hunk.

Kolivan donned his hood and mask and stepped to the center of the room. “_Honorem, cognitionis, sapientia, victoria._”

“_Magia_.” The hooded Blades chorused.

“Tonight, you may be wondering why we have outsiders amongst us, why we have allowed them into our most sacred, most valuable room within our base,” Kolivan said. “But, perhaps, you already know.”

Kolivan turned to one of the hooded Blades. “Begin the ceremony.”

The Blade in question nodded, bowing slightly.

Then, the Blade called out in Keith’s voice: “Peter Williams.” Hunk flinched slightly at the sound of his legal name, but Keith either did not notice or didn’t care. “The Oracle requires a vessel. Do you invite her in with an open mind, an open heart, and open arms?”

“I… I do.” Hunk said softly.

“Peter Williams,” Coran called out. “The Oracle requires services. Do you vow to serve her every need with an open mind, an open heart, and open arms?”

“I do.” Hunk said, his voice raised slightly.

“Peter Williams,” The female voice from before called out. “The Oracle require sacrifice. Do you give yourself and your life blood willingly?”

Hunk didn’t even hesitate as he declared, “I do.”

“Peter Williams of Charleston, Seer,” Kolivan’s voice boomed. “Submit yourself before the Oracle.”

Hunk took a deep breath and carefully padded towards the iron gate. He lifted his hands, took another deep breath, closed his eyes.

Pidge heard her gasp echoed amongst Lance, Veronica and Allura as Hunk tightly grabbed the wrought iron vines, the sharp thorns piercing his skin of his palms, blood dripping to the stone floor.

The iron vines began to retreat, the roses wilting. With a clang and much clattering from the falling roses, Hunk threw the doors open.

There was a great whoosh of wind, whipping faster than a tornado and louder than a Category Five hurricane. Pidge raised her arm to shield her eyes, but still saw as Hunk fell to his knees, his head tilted back, his arms limp.

Still, over the noise of the wind, the words that came out of Hunk’s mouth were clear.

_Magic more ancient than the gods,_

_Magic that receives no lauds,_

_Magic darker than a winter sky,_

_Magic with no rules to abide by,_

_Magic wielded by a Witch, child of earth and sky,_

_Magic that makes the dead comply,_

_Magic that will see the goddess rise,_

_Magic that a new age the Witch shall guide,_

_With her fated familiar by her side._

The wind died and Hunk toppled over onto the stones, everything momentarily silent.

Then Kolivan spoke again, “The prophesied time is now. And that Witch, with her fated familiar…” He slowly turned to look at Pidge and Shiro. “Would be Katelyn Holt and Takashi Shirogane.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left, most of the Blades trailing behind, whispers and shouts equally dispersed. Only two Blades—Keith and the female member—remained.

Pidge and Shiro exchanged a glance. Pidge felt her heart pounding.

Familiar… She didn’t just raise Shiro from the dead. She had taken on a familiar.

Lance moved towards Hunk, carefully rolling him onto his back, frantically checking Hunk’s pulse and breathing.

“He’ll be fine. Being possessed by the Oracle took a lot of energy,” The female Blade said as she came over and kneeled across from Lance. She removed her hood and mask, revealing a young pale face with pale blue eyes and rosy lips.

Lance stared at her with his mouth open. “Romelle?” He asked in dismay.

She smiled sheepishly. “Hi, Lance.”

“You know him, Melle?” Keith asked as he removed his own hood and mask.

“You know her, Lance?” Veronica asked.

“Romelle is the school librarian where I work,” Lance answered Veronica.

“Lance is the cute kindergarten teacher I was telling you about,” Romelle cheerily told Keith. “The one that is—”

“I got it,” Keith said gruffly. “Let’s get Hunk home. Kolivan’s going to post Blades around your apartment, so it’ll be safe for everyone to return to. Including Stella.”

“And can you give us some more answers related to what the heck just happened?” Pidge demanded.

Keith and Romelle exchanged a glance.

“More or less,” Romelle said.

Pidge sighed. “Good enough.”


	10. Chapter 10

Shay was already at the apartment, unpacking containers of take-out food, when they arrived.

“What happened?” She demanded, rushing over to where Shiro, Keith and Lance were carrying Hunk inside.

“We’ll explain in a moment,” Pidge said, running ahead to open up the door to Hunk’s room. “Shay, I’ll need you for a moment.”

Shay nodded, and followed behind.

As soon as Hunk was laid on his bed, stirring slightly and mumbling in his sleep, Pidge and Shay shooed Lance, Shiro and Keith out of the room.

Shiro glanced at the closed door to Hunk’s room, his brow furrowed. “Uh, everything okay?” He asked in a low voice as Lance joined Allura and Romelle as they unpacked the food.

“Yeah, Shay and Pidge are just going to make sure Hunk’s more comfortable,” Lance said, pulling silverware out of the drawer. His cellphone dinged and he pulled it out of his pocket. “That’s my mom. She’s out front with Stella. I’ll be right back, no talk of this secret organization stuff until I get back.” With that, he rushed out of the apartment.

“How long will Hunk be asleep for?” Allura asked as she pulled out a container that had Hunk’s name scrawled on the top of the Styrofoam in Sharpie.

“Probably not too terribly long,” Romelle said. “But I don’t know. The Oracle has not had a vessel in centuries.”

Pidge and Shay exited Hunk’s room, softly closing the door behind them.

“Shay, I think we’re missing a container,” Veronica said.

“I didn’t order anything,” Shiro told her. “I can’t eat. No food for me.”

“What, seriously?” Pidge said, surprised.

“Yeah. Found that out the hard way last night,” Shiro said, taking a seat on the floor. The apartment door opened again and Lance and Stella came in, Lance carrying Stella’s backpack and Stella rushing up to Romelle to hug her.

“Miss Romelle!” Stella cried out excitedly.

“Hi, Stella,” Romelle said, returning the hug. “Did you have a nice time with your Aubelita?”

“Yep! She read me the _Rosie Revere, Engineer _book I checked out today!” Stella said. She turned to Pidge. “Aunt Pidge, can you read it to me again for bed? You’d love it!”

“Sure, sweetie,” Pidge said as she picked up a take-out container with her name on it and a fork.

“What am I, Stells, chopped liver?” Veronica asked teasingly. Stella ran across the room to throw herself at her aunt, who picked her up. That was when she noticed Keith and Shiro, staring at them quizzically.

“Who are you?” She asked as Veronica set her on the ground again.

Keith set down his fork and stuck his hand out towards her. “Keith Baker. I’m friends with Miss Romelle.”

Stella took his hand and shook it with a formal, grown-up air. “Stellaluna Ramirez.”

“Stellaluna, huh?” Keith said. “Like the book with the bat?”

Stella’s eyes lit up. “Yes, just like the book! Papi named me after her!”

“Nice,” Keith said, nodding. “That’s one of my favorite books.”

Stella looked incredibly pleased. Then she turned to Shiro expectantly.

“I’m Shiro,” He said. “Nice to meet you, Stellaluna.”

Stella studied him, then her eyes widened again with delight and she pointed at Shiro. “You’re Eugene Fitzherbert!”

Shiro blinked. “Uh…”

Stella was bouncing in place excitedly and clapping her hands. “Aunt Pidge brought you back to life like Rapunzel did, and that must mean you’re her Eugene Fitzherbert!”

“Uh, something like that,” Shiro said. The word _familiar_ echoed in his mind.

“Stella, keep it down a bit, Uncle Hunk is sleeping,” Lance said, putting a finger to his lips to indicate quiet.

“No, I’m not,” Hunk said groggily from the door to his room, wearing an over-sized College of Charleston sweatshirt, looking around the room with half-lidded eyes. He rubbed his forehead and groaned. “I’ve got a killer headache…”

“Come eat something and drink some water,” Shay said, coming over to his side. “I’ll get you a painkiller.”

Hunk nodded and let Shay lead him over to the couch, where he took a seat in the corner. Lance handed him a Styrofoam container with Hunk’s name on it while Pidge brought over a glass of water. Hunk gulped down half of the glass of water first, then gladly took the offered medicine from Shay, chasing the pills down with the other half of the glass.

His voice raspy, Hunk asked, “What happened?”

“Yeah, I want an answer to that one,” Shay said, sitting on the couch beside her boyfriend.

“You served as the willing vessel to the Oracle, and delivered the ancient prophecy,” Romelle said as she took a seat on the floor beside Stella, who had set up Lance’s phone in front of her, cheery but slightly tinny music from a cartoon theme song playing from the device.

Hunk’s sleepy eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” He said dryly. “That answered my question exactly.”

“How about we back up a bit,” Allura suggested. “What exactly is the Blade of Marmora and how did you two—” She gestured to Romelle and Keith. “—become part of it?”

“Coran didn’t explain?” Keith asked, frowning as he took a bite of his burger.

Allura scowled and stabbed at her food so aggressively that Shiro was surprised her fork didn’t plunge through the bottom of the Styrofoam. “No. He didn’t. Not really.”

Keith leaned back some. “The Blade of Marmora is made up of Witch scholars—librarians, archaeologists, historians, alchemists—who are dedicated to protecting magical artifacts and history. We are also guardians of prophecies, such as the one Hunk delivered tonight.”

“What are you in that scholar category, Keith?” Shay asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Librarian,” Keith answered. “I work at the main library part-time right now while I’m still in grad school.”

“Wait wait wait,” Lance said, holding up a hand. “They let a Fire Witch be a librarian?”

Keith frowned at him. “No one _let_ me be a librarian. After this semester, I’ve got six more credit hours to complete to get my Master’s degree. I’ve worked my butt off for it, too.”

“Yeah, but, isn’t that dangerous because of all the books and stuff?” Lance asked. “What if you accidentally set them all on fire?”

Pidge sighed. “Lance, just because a pipe bursts every time you sneeze…”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME PIDGE!” Lance yelled, then looked regretful as Hunk winced at the volume.

“So, when Coran said that he was your mentor…” Allura said, her voice trailing off and her mouth twisting slightly.

“He meant it in more way than one,” Keith said. “Coran volunteered to be my mentor to guide me through initiation.”

“Did he recruit you for the Blade?” Veronica asked.

Keith shook his head. “I’ve always known about the Blade. I was practically raised by them. My mom is a member, and Kolivan is my godfather.”

“I’m confused,” Shiro admitted. He tried hard not to think about how that was the summary of the last twenty-four hours of his… not-life? “Why does the Blade have to be a secret, then?”

“It’s mostly out of fear that the Normies would retaliate and attempt to destroy our artifacts and, ergo, our history,” Romelle explained. “But, there’s another reason as well. One that we definitely do not want Normies to know, and not all Witches. And that is that the Blade also protects Normies and other Witches from Sorcerers. We ensure that any Sorcerers who return from Rell are… taken care of. And right now, Kolivan is seriously ticked off that we have let not one but two Sorcerers slip by us and running loose in the city of our headquarters.”

“When you say ‘taken care of’, what exactly does that…?” Pidge asked hesitantly.

After a quick glance at Stella—who was very invested in her chicken strips, french fries, and cartoon—Romelle and Keith both made quick swiping gestures across their throats.

The message was clear.

“You know,” Lance said awkwardly in the silence. “I always knew librarians were capable of dangerous things. My elementary school librarian always looked like she wanted to kill me if I breathed wrong.”

“Lance, that’s because when you were in second grade, you broke the ‘no food or drink in the library’ rule by stuffing snacks into your socks,” Hunk pointed out.

“One, I can’t help that reading makes me snacky,” Lance said, holding up a finger, then raising a second one. “And, two, I never got caught eating snacks in the library!”

“No, but you did set up an illegal sock-snack-shop in the library and one of your customers ratted you out,” Veronica pointed out.

“To this day, I maintain that James Griffin was a tattletale baby,” Lance said irritably.

“You were a terror as a child, weren’t you?” Keith asked, a small smirk on his face.

“Don’t get me started,” Veronica groaned. “Mami has the patience of a saint, but she still gets pissed off about the time he missed school for two weeks for the stomach bug he never actually caught.”

“Abulita says I’m an angel who can do no wrong,” Stella chimed in happily, looking up from her cartoon.

“She’s your grandma, that’s her default opinion of you,” Lance informed her.

Stella just smirked.

“Okay, so, can we now move on in our topic of conversation to the prophecy Hunk spouted?” Pidge asked.

“Yes, I’m very interested in that topic, too,” Shiro said.

“What prophecy?” Shay asked, her brows furrowing.

Keith repeated the prophecy word for word. When he finished, he explained, “The Blade has been guarding that prophecy since the beginning of our organization. Only at the appointed time will the Oracle allow a Seer to be her vessel and speak the prophecy. We only knew that it was related to a Necromancer and a familiar.”

“Have there been other Necromancers, ones that didn’t take on familiars?” Allura asked.

“Not since Sorcerers were banished to Rell,” Romelle explained.

“I’m still confused,” Shiro said. “The Blade of Marmora has known exactly what this prophecy is—every single member—for centuries? So why would the Oracle need a vessel?”

“To confirm that the time is right, that the right circumstances have put into motion to begin the new age of magic,” Romelle said. She smiled at Hunk, who poked listlessly at his food. “It is a great honor to be chosen as the Oracle’s vessel.”

“Then the Oracle should have chosen a different Seer,” Hunk said sharply. “Not one who can barely See anything. One that shouldn’t just be told that they’ll be great but is actually great.”

“Hunk,” Lance groaned. “Come on, buddy, you are a great Seer.”

“I’m mediocre at best and you know it. You’ve known me my whole life and not once has anything I’ve Seen led to anything but trouble,” Hunk snapped. “It’s bad enough that Gramma keeps insisting I’m her heir when she’s clearly wrong. Everyone knows she’s wrong. Has been wrong since the day I was born.”

“That’s not true,” Shay said, reaching up to gently rub Hunk’s arm. “Gramma Della has always been your biggest supporter, the one who believes in you the most. Besides, she’s never been wrong yet. If nothing else, you’re proof of that.”

“What does that mean?” Shiro asked, confused.

Hunk’s friends hesitated, and he set down his untouched food on the coffee table with a sigh.

“Gramma Della, my great-grandmother, she’s famous for being able to predict stuff about babies,” Hunk explained, folding his arms over his chest protectively, his eyes downcast. “She’s more accurate than an ultrasound when it comes to the baby’s gender, and she’s never been wrong about what their Witch powers are.”

“I mean, Pidge is clearly an outlier there,” Veronica said, gesturing to Pidge.

“Yeah, but Gramma Della insists that she Saw nothing in regards to my powers,” Pidge said. “She told me that last night.”

“And I’m the other outlier,” Hunk said. “See, Gramma Della’s said for decades that her successor will be a male descendant. My family is famous for only having daughters. So when my mom was pregnant with me, Gramma Della foretold that I would be male.”

“Okay?” Keith said, confused. “And you are? So why do you think she’s wrong?”

There was a moment of quiet in which Hunk’s jaw clenched and unclenched a few times. Lance put a hand on his shoulder and said, “You don’t have—”

But Hunk cut him off, spitting out, “Because I wasn’t born male.”

“Oh,” Romelle said, nodding in understanding.

“Ah,” Keith said with barely a blink. “Okay.”

Shiro didn’t say anything, but felt sympathy for Hunk; he knew it must have been hard to come out to family and friends, but even harder to come out to strangers that you’ve known less than a day. It also gave him more understanding regarding Lance’s earlier comment about Pidge and Shay needing to make sure the unconscious Hunk was more comfortable, and why Hunk was currently hugging his chest.

“It wasn’t until I came out that everyone realized that Gramma Della was actually right,” Hunk said, still not looking up. “But by that point, I’d only been able to See a few times, whereas my sisters and cousins had all been Seeing much more frequently and with much more accuracy. So I was male, yes, but in no way, shape, or form her successor. It’ll probably be one of my sisters’ kids, or my cousin’s kids. Not this generation but the next.”

“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Keith said, voice not necessarily soft but the usual sharp edges his tone had were rounded and smooth. “I know how hard that is. But I still think you’re wrong. That you are a great Seer, and the Oracle couldn’t have chosen better. Which means we need to interpret your prophecy from this afternoon, and the sooner we do so the better.”

Hunk looked up then. “You can, but it’ll be twisted, just like always. That is my last warning. Whatever happens because of you trying to make sense of what I Saw is on you.”

Keith nodded grimly. “I accept that wholeheartedly.”

Hunk nodded and stood up. “I’m going back to bed.”

Once his door was closed, Keith spoke again. “The prophecy from this afternoon spoke of the familiar. That’s Shiro.”

“And that the familiar shall not rest until the past is past,” Veronica said. Suddenly, she sat up straighter a bit. “Wait. Shiro, you can’t remember your past.”

“Correct,” Shiro said, nodding.

“And we don’t know what led to your death, either,” Pidge added. “So, in order to move forward, we have to figure out what happened to Shiro?”

“Sounds like it,” Keith said. “I guess we know what we’re doing tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Veronica said, nodding. “Starting with reviewing the 9-1-1 call record from the night Shiro died.”

“You have access to that recording?” Allura asked.

“Technically, I don’t,” Veronica said. “But I know someone who can and will help us.”


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Pidge found herself sitting in a room with Pidge, Allura, Keith, Veronica, and a Charleston PD detective named Adam, a computer screen in front of them. Adam typed in his credentials and started doing a search.

“So to make sure I understand completely,” Adam said, eyes on the screen. “You’re looking into how Shiro died because a fortune teller told you to?”

“A Seer, but yes,” Pidge said, drumming her fingers on the desk, her fingers itching to have a go at the data. A part of her knew she should have been updating her resume and searching the internet for jobs. But, yet, here she was, at the police station, trying to retrace the footsteps of a dead man. Zombie man.

Her familiar…

Familiars were not an unusual concept to Witches. They were one of the oldest concept of Witchcraft, and one of the few accurate stereotypes. However, familiars mostly consisted of animals. Cats and dogs, frogs and birds, horses and snakes, the occasional goat and llama. Not human beings. Pidge knew enough about familiars to know that they were free, independent agents who merely hung around Witches for companionship.

She couldn’t even begin to fathom what this connection to Shiro meant.

“Here we are,” Adam said, clicking on a record.

He cranked up the volume and unplugged the set of headphones attached to the computer, then pressed play.

There was a crackle and the sound of a muffled voice, then a woman’s voice.

_“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”_

_“There’s a man here, he’s hurt.”_ A man’s voice said a bit breathlessly. “_My—I__’m walking my dog, I found him, he’s on the street.”_

_“Sir, what is your location?”_

_“Intersection of King and Maple.”_

_“Medical services are on the way. Can you tell me about the man’s condition? Is he breathing?”_

_“He’s breathing, but barely. He’s covered in burns and blood… I think he got struck by lightning.”_

_“Do you know any details about this man?”_

_“No, never seen him before… Mid-twenties, I guess? Asian. His arm… his arm has the worst of the burns.”_

_“Please stay on the line until help arrives. What is your name, sir?”_

_“Rolo. Rolo Davis.”_ The man inhaled sharply. _“The ambulance is here.”_

Adam turned off the recording.

“Was there any security camera footage of where Shiro was found?” Pidge asked.

“None,” Adam answered. “I already checked.”

“So we can’t see what happened to Shiro before he was found, then,” Pidge said, tapping her fingers on the desk again.

“Can we track down this guy?” Keith asked. “Rolo Davis? Maybe he can give us some information.”

“Should be able to,” Adam said, standing up. “Hang tight, I’m going to ask Ina to pull his last known address.”

“Thanks, Adam,” Shiro said.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem,” Adam said, not looking back as he left the room.

Pidge looked at Veronica. “Are you going to be able to come with us?”

Veronica shook her head. “Would love to, believe me, it’s better than the shift I’m about to start. Roll-call is in fifteen. I’ve got to go. Keep me updated, though.”

“Will do,” Pidge said as she left the room. To the others, she said, “Lance, Romelle, Hunk and Shay said they’d join us this afternoon. It’s a half-day at the school, and Hunk had a meeting he had to be part of. So between the six of us, we’ll have plenty of eyes to look for clues and stuff.”

“I thought Hunk didn’t want anything to do with this,” Shiro said.

“He wants to help, but he maintains that his prophecy is going to be twisted,” Pidge explained. What she didn’t voice was that she had a sneaking suspicion that Hunk wanted to be present in the case of an opportunity to say _I told you so_.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay for much longer, though,” Allura commented.

“I thought you didn’t have class on Fridays,” Pidge said, leaning back in her chair.

“No, but I do have plans.” Allura said, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

Pidge smirked. “Date with Mystery Man?”

“No!” Allura said, her cheeks darkening slightly. “It’s not a date! We are studying! At the library!”

“So it is a date,” Pidge said in a sing-song voice. “A study date.”

Allura stuck her tongue out at Pidge, who laughed. Allura had been having a lot of ‘study dates’ with whom Pidge, Lance, Hunk and Shay had started calling ‘Mystery Man’. They knew Allura had a crush on him and was vehemently denying it, but she refused to tell them anything about him other than they were in all of the same classes, and that they’d gone for lunch, dinner and coffee many times over the last two semesters.

Adam returned, accompanied by a thin, pale, freckled, serious-looking woman with her blonde hair cut boyishly short, whom he introduced as Ina.

“I have located the last known address of the man from the call,” She said, holding up a slip of paper in her hand.

“Awesome, thanks,” Pidge said, standing up and reaching for it, but Ina pulled the paper back.

“I will not give it to a civilian,” She declared. “Nor will I give it to Detective West, as I know he will do irresponsible things with this information. However…” She reached into her back pocket and tossed something shiny at Shiro, who caught it.

He studied the object in his hand, his brows furrowing as he looked up at Ina. “My… badge? But, Ina—”

“Detective Shirogane, you were not reassigned, fired, nor resigned from the Charleston Police Department,” Ina declared. “Therefore, this is your case. And for that reason, I can hand over this highly sensitive civilian information to you.” She extended her hand with the paper to him. “Do not make me regret this, Detective.”

Shiro took the paper. “Thank you, Ina.”

Ina sniffed, nodded, and left. “Now get out of here before Captain Iverson gets a whiff of whatever it is you’re up to.”

“You heard the officer,” Adam said.

“You’re not coming with us, either?” Shiro asked.

Adam shook his head, not looking at Shiro. “I’m behind on my own cases. This isn’t an assignment, and I could get in trouble for helping you more than I already have. Sorry.”

“Thank you, though,” Shiro said. “For everything.”

Adam just turned on his heel, heading for the door again. “Thank me by getting out of here and figuring out what happened to you, Shiro.”

Pidge grabbed her bag and caught up to Shiro as they exited the police department.

“So, uh,” She said quietly. “What’s Adam’s deal? Did you two not get along or something?”

“According to Keith and Veronica, we got along great. We’ve been partners for years,” Shiro said, frowning. “Which is why I really can’t understand why he won’t even look at me.”

He looked so sad and dejected, like the puppies and kitties from the ASPCA commercials, that Pidge felt sorry for him. Without thinking, she grabbed hold of his hand. Shiro tensed and looked down at their joined hands quizzically.

Pidge, her cheeks heating, let go of his hand as fast as she had grabbed it, wrapping both hands around the strap of her bag instead.

Shiro looked away from her, looking at the paper in his hand. “I hope this guy is home on a Friday morning.”

“Only one way to find out,” Pidge said.

*****

Half an hour later, they were standing in front of an apartment door. From within the apartment, a dog started barking and a woman’s voice saying, “Quiet, Beezer!”

Shiro raised a hand and knocked.

There was the sound of more barking and footsteps. The door opened, revealing a tall, young Asian woman with bleached-blonde streaks in her dark hair and wearing a polo shirt from a local grocery store. She stood frozen, her eyes wide as she stared at the four people in front of her door, one hand clutching the door, the other hand around the collar of a pitbull with a lolling tongue.

Pidge felt her stomach knot and her heart pound.

Just by looking at this woman, Pidge knew one concrete fact about the stranger before her: she was a Witch.

“Um, hello?” The woman squeaked.

“We’re sorry to bother you, ma’am,” Keith said. “But we’re looking for a Rolo Davis. Is he still at this residence or has he moved?”

The woman stared at them, then, her voice shaky, said, “He’s my boyfriend. He’s asleep right now. He works nights.”

“I’m really sorry to ask this, but could you wake him up?” Shiro asked. “We have a few questions for him.”

She didn’t ask who they were. She didn’t send them away. She simply stared at Shiro and opened the door wider, tugging at the dog—Beezer—who eyed the four people suspiciously as they entered. The dog followed the woman to the bedroom door, and she disappeared inside the dark room. Within moments, a wide-eyed African-American man bolted out of the room, wearing only a pair of red boxer shorts, his dreadlocks bouncing on his shoulders as he came to a sudden, jolting stop. Unlike his girlfriend, no aura of magic surrounded him. He was a Normie.

The man stared at Shiro, blinking, then he leaned forward, grabbing hold of the back of the couch with both hands.

“When Nyma said you were here… I didn’t think… How?” He asked.

“Uh, perhaps we should sit down and talk about this,” Pidge suggested awkwardly, not sure how to address the nearly-naked man’s, well, near-nakedness.

“Right,” Rolo said. He looked at his girlfriend. “I know it’s not even noon, but do we need wine for this?”

“We need wine for this,” She confirmed. Then she glanced at her boyfriend’s waist, frowned, and said, “And you need to go put on pants, Ro.”

“But life is so freeing without them,” Rolo protested.

“Pants. On. Now,” She said, pointing to the bedroom.

Rolo dutifully went to put pants on. His girlfriend—Nyma—looked at the four strangers in her apartment and said, “Red or white?”

*****

“I’m starting to notice a pattern,” Shiro said as Nyma filled up Pidge’s glass with wine.

“And what’s that?” Pidge asked.

“That when people see me for the first time, they immediately want to consume alcohol.” Shiro said.

“I promise you, that pattern is new,” Keith informed him.

“We’re really sorry we woke you up,” Allura told Rolo as he emerged from the bedroom. “But we wouldn’t have done so if it weren’t important.”

“It’s cool,” Rolo said, taking the glass offered to him by Nyma, yawning slightly as he did so. He glanced at Shiro as he took a seat in a recliner, Nyma perching herself on the arm. “And, honestly? I never thought I’d see you again. Kinda glad I was wrong, since I was wondering what happened to you.”

“But yet you’re nervous,” Shiro observed.

“I’m not nervous,” Rolo protested.

“Your hand is shaking,” Shiro said, nodding his head towards Rolo’s glass, the red liquid sloshing around. Rolo cupped the glass in both hands.

“Alright, yeah, I’m nervous,” Rolo admitted. “I don’t know what to say to a stranger.”

“What I’d like you to say is what happened. How you found me,” Shiro said. “I died that night. And I have no memory of that day, and there’s a large gap between when my coworkers last saw me and when you called 9-1-1.”

Rolo glanced up at Nyma, who was petting Beezer on the head. She nodded slightly. “Tell him, Ro,” She whispered. “He deserves to know all of it.”

“All of it?” Pidge repeated. “What does that mean?”

Rolo took a sip of his wine. “I was alone when I made the call to 9-1-1. But I wasn’t alone when I found you.”

“We listened to the recorded call,” Allura said. “We know that Beezer was with you. You were out walking him.”

“Yeah. Beezer started going nuts and that’s how we found you,” Rolo said. He put his hand on Nyma’s thigh. “Me and Nyma.”

Keith leaned forward and set his glass on the coffee table and looked at Nyma. “You left the scene, didn’t you? Before Rolo made the call?”

“I told her to go back to the apartment,” Rolo confessed. “To leave Beezer with me, and come back here, then go to her sister’s. She needed to be as far away as possible, and her sister would give her an alibi that had her nowhere near the scene at the time.”

Nyma nodded. “I’m a Fire Witch,” She whispered. “And, with the burns… We were afraid. Afraid that I’d be blamed for the injuries.”

“Burns don’t necessarily mean Witches, though,” Pidge said. “They could have been chemical burns, not fire burns.”

“I know the difference,” Nyma said, looking up. “And I know that… that the burns were not chemical, or in any way natural.”

This had everyone’s attention.

“What do you mean?” Shiro asked.

Nyma took a long drink of her wine, blinking back tears. “The burns. Magic just… oozed from them. It wasn’t natural. But it wasn’t like my magic either. Not the magic of any Fire Witch. Where you were, it looked more deliberate than an accident.”

“If you were so afraid, why are you telling us this instead of sticking to your cover story?” Pidge asked.

“Because we weren’t expecting this rando burnt guy we found to show up on our doorstep looking like an extra on _The Walking Dead_,” Rolo said, gesturing towards Shiro with his wine glass. “And because you’re not cops.”

There was a hushed silence and Pidge, Keith and Allura exchanged a glance then looked over at Shiro.

Rolo groaned and hung his head. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Shiro said sheepishly. “I’m a detective, if it makes any difference. And I’m not on an official case or anything. Dying apparently means you’re off duty forever.”

“I’m sorry we can’t tell you more,” Nyma said.

“No, you’ve given us information, and information that contributes to other information that we have,” Keith said.

“It does?” Allura asked. “How so?”

“Shiro’s work computer got nuked, and IT refuses to accept that it was because of Witches, but you can feel the magic radiating from it,” Keith explained. “Maybe whoever did that to Shiro’s computer…”

“Also is responsible for Shiro’s injuries,” Pidge finished. Suddenly, she whipped around to Shiro. “Do you know if your cellphone was found on your body when you got to the hospital?”

“I have no idea,” Shiro admitted.

“It’d be in the bag of your stuff that your parents were given by the hospital morgue,” Keith said. “Which means, if we can find your cellphone, it’s most likely going to be at your parents’ house.”

“If we can find your cellphone, I might be able to hack into the GPS to figure out where you were leading up to when Rolo and Nyma found you,” Pidge said. “Help fill in the gaps that way.”

Shiro nodded, then turned to Rolo and Nyma. “Thank you. For getting me help then, and for helping me now.”

“You’re welcome,” Rolo said. He smiled faintly. “But how about we try not to make a habit of it, huh?”

“We’ll do our best,” Pidge assured him.

But even as they walked out of the apartment, Pidge couldn’t stop herself from wondering.

What, exactly, had Shiro been mixed up in before his death? And what sort of trouble lay ahead for them?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early because it's my birthday and I felt like it!
> 
> Also, this is going to be the last update of "Bless Your Undead Heart" of 2019. See you in the new year!

“Are you sure I can’t get you something to eat? Drink? I have tea. Both iced and hot,” Okaa-San said from where she hovered at the doorway of Shiro’s old room, wringing her hands slightly.

“Thank you for the very kind offer, Mrs. Shirogane, but we’re fine,” Pidge said as she set down another box. They arrived at the Shirogane household and Shiro’s mother confirmed which room the bag from the hospital was in. That was the good news. The bad news, however, was that the bag in question had been placed in a box of Shiro’s stuff from his apartment, which meant it was currently buried in the mess of the all the boxes that had been brought over from Shiro’s old apartment. Some of which were well-marked and accurate about their contents, and bore Keith’s handwriting on the side. Other boxes… well, not so much.

Now Shiro, along with Keith, Pidge and Shinji, were moving the boxes around and searching for the one from the hospital. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

“Please, call me Oba-San.” Okaa-San told Pidge, gushing slightly, waving her hand. “Too formal otherwise.” From downstairs, the phone rang and Okaa-San tssked. “I’ll go get that.”

“Your mom is nice,” Pidge commented to Shiro and Shinji when she heard Okaa-San’s footsteps on the stairs.

“She is,” Shiro confirmed.

“Oba-San adores you, Pidge,” Keith said, grunting slightly as he set down a particularly heavy box.

Pidge frowned at that. “But she just met me? And I didn’t exactly give a great first impression…”

“Yeah, well, after she got over the shock, Okaa-San immediately wanted to invite you over for dinner,” Shinji explained as he opened a box, frowning at the clothes stuffed inside. “She thinks you’re awesome, for bringing Takashi back to life. You’ve knocked Keith from his place of ‘favorite non-biological kid’, by the way.”

“A title I shall rightfully regain,” Keith commented, taking a moment to stretch his arms above his head, displaying the black and white tattoos that covered the undersides of his forearms; on his left arm was the solar system, a sun at his wrist, while on his right arm was the phases of the moon. He narrowed his eyes at Pidge. “Consider yourself warned.”

Pidge looked over at Shiro. “Is that a challenge I should accept?”

Shiro noted that there was an underlying, unspoken question.

Did he want her to stick around after they unburied what happened in Shiro’s last living days?

And, to be honest, Shiro wasn’t quite sure. Shiro had only known Pidge for two days. Granted, he had only known most of the people in his life for two days. But he liked Pidge. She was nice. And honest. Her friends were as well. He didn’t know what it meant that he was her familiar. As far as he could tell, she didn’t either. But whatever that meant, she was giving him free will in the situation. Giving him an out, a chance to walk away. An acknowledgment that he didn’t owe her anything. A chance to never see her again, for this to become an anecdote to tell at dinner parties and with the grandkids. _Oh, yes, when I was a young woman I accidentally raised a man from the dead. We played detective to figure out how he died, then I never saw him again. Wonder what happened to him?_

Shiro suddenly realized that he had two paths before him: one at Pidge’s side, and one without her. He had no idea which one was the best course of action for him. But he also knew that whatever choice he made in this moment would not be permanent. That Pidge wouldn’t bind him to her. He was free to come and go as he pleased.

So he responded, “I think you should. Keith needs to be challenged. Keeps him on his toes and humble.”

Pidge grinned at him and tucked a strand of hair that came loose from her ponytail behind her ear.

The action sent a jolt through Shiro. If his heart was still beating, it would have picked up pace. He couldn’t explain it.

Wait a second.

Was he _attracted_ to Pidge?

If he was, that was surprising. He knew enough about himself that gender didn’t matter when it came to romantic partner, but attraction was infrequent. So why did he feel attraction within just a few days of knowing this woman was surprising, especially given how little he actually knew her. Was he interested in her romantically? He knew for certain that it wasn’t sexual attraction. Yet. Was it even attraction? Maybe this was part of being her familiar or something.

He didn’t know. So for now he just wasn’t going to do anything about it.

From downstairs, the doorbell rang and Okaa-San yelled upstairs in Japanese. Shinji set down another box and left the room, saying he’d be right back. There was the sound of the door opening, then more footsteps up the stairs.

“More help has arrived to sort through this mess,” Shinji declared as he was followed into the room by Lance, Hunk, Shay, Romelle, and—surprisingly—Stella.

“Welcome to the party,” Shiro greeted.

“Is there cake?” Stella asked, her hand in Lance’s and her eyes eagerly looking about the room.

“Ice cream to the victor who manages to find this one box we’ve spent two hours looking for,” Keith told her, opening up another box. He sighed as he pulled out a frying pan, a television remote, a pair of socks, and a tube of toothpaste. “Yeah, I really should haven’t have had your emotional, jet-lagged cousins help with this.”

“Shouldn’t the box from the hospital be marked with Shiro’s name on it?” Hunk asked. “That makes a difference, right?”

“Except for the fact that it was a bag, and we put that bag in a box.” Shinji said. “Which means it could be anywhere in this mess.” He gestured to the stack of boxes on the right side of the room. “We’ve already gone through all of those boxes.”

Stella raised her hand, as if wanting to be called on. Shiro obliged. “Yes, Stella?”

“What’s in the bag?” She asked. “Is it a present? For the party?”

“It has some clothing in it, along with my wallet, keys, phone, and some other things,” Shiro told her. He suddenly had a concerned thought and looked at Keith and Shinji. “Uh, my gun wouldn’t be in there, right?”

“Right,” Shinji assured him. “That went straight back to the police department, since it was issued and not personal property. Captain Iverson took it when he came to identify you in the morgue. And you didn’t own any personal firearms. And we already found the box with all of the kitchen knives.”

“So it’s safe for Stella to help search?” Lance asked for clarification.

“Yeah, unless you find Shiro’s old collection of Crocs to be offensive and too much for a small child,” Keith commented.

“Hey, Crocs are functional footwear that are comfortable and easy to take on and off in a moment’s notice,” Shiro said defensively.

“Yes, but they have the tragic downside of causing second-hand embarrassment for everyone seen with you,” Shinji pointed out.

“Shiro’s horrible taste in shoes aside,” Keith told Lance. “She’ll be fine.”

Stella, with the promise of ice cream and permission to help, immediately went over to the remaining boxes, tapping a finger to her chin as she tried to decide which one to open. As Shiro went through the box in front of him, he heard the whispered conversation between Pidge and Lance.

“I thought you were going to take her to your mom’s,” Pidge told Lance.

“I was, then she texted saying that she had to go attend a birth,” Lance told her. “Rachel doesn’t get off until four, and my dad doesn’t get off until six.”

“If she gets bored, I could take her to the park down the street,” Shay offered. “If that’s okay with you, Lance.”

“That’d be great.” Lance said. “I’m not sure how I feel about her helping investigate a potential murder.”

Shiro understood this sentiment. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that he was currently investigating what was potentially a murder either. Especially given that this would mean that he was the murder victim in question.

“Papi,” Stella called from the stack of boxes. “Can you get that one down for me?”

“Sure,” Lance said, and went over to the stack of boxes Stella stood beside. “This one?” He asked, pointing to the very top one.

“No, that one!” Stella said, pointing at the one in the middle.

“I’ll come take the top one,” Keith said, helping Lance move the boxes until the one Stella wanted was one the floor. “I’ll cut the tape for you, Stella.”

“Thank you, Mr. Keith,” Stella said. Keith reached up to the dagger-shaped pendant around his neck, tugging it free and it became a dagger the length of Stella’s forearm. He cut the tape, then lifted it back to the sheath, the dagger shrinking in size again.

“What’s up with dagger?” Hunk asked as he opened his own box with an X-Acto-knife that Pidge has passed him. “I understand it’s part of the cloak-and-dagger secret society thing…”

“It’s made of a rare magical ore called Celestium, stronger than any steel, copper, iron, or any other metal that could be utilized in sword-making,” Romelle explained as she used her own dagger-pendant to open a box. “It has been forged to have three forms: the pendant form, a dagger, and a sword. Every member of the Blade forges their own with the aid of our Master Forger, a Gem Witch. Part of the forging process requires the Blade to mix their own blood with the metal so that it only responds to that person.”

“That’s intense,” Hunk commented. “But still cool.”

“Actually, that’s pretty tame compared to the selection and initiation process,” Keith said, reaching up to rub his right shoulder.

“Mr. Keith,” Stella said suddenly, looking up with big, sparkling eyes. “What kind of ice cream does the finder get?”

“Whatever kind they want, I guess,” Keith said. “Why?”

“Because I found this!” Stella said, holding up a cellphone victoriously. She looked at Keith and said, “And I want chocolate with rainbow sprinkles!”

*****

Keith, being a man of his word, set out immediately for the grocery store to get the ice cream and sprinkles.

While he was gone, the searchers moved downstairs to the living room, where Pidge set up camp with her laptop, array of cords, and the charging cellphone.

They had all collectively sighed in relief when the phone could be charged, worried that it had been fried—and not in a good, crispy, delicious way—when Shiro had sustained his injuries.

“How’s it going?” Keith asked as he came back in the house, carrying a grocery bag.

“Finally got it charged enough so that it’ll stay on long enough for me to get to work,” Pidge said, her attention on her laptop screen. “The good news is that the phone is hooked up to Shiro’s Google account. Which means that, if location services was turned on, Google Maps would have recorded some of the places where Shiro’s been. The bad news is, of course, that he doesn’t remember his password for either his phone or this account, so we’re going through the process of resetting the passwords so that I can get in and try to see what Google didn’t record.”

“How long will that take?” Shinji asked.

“Dunno,” Pidge admitted. “Serve me up a bowl of ice cream, will ya? Hold the sprinkles.”

“Can I have Aunt Pidge’s portion of sprinkles?” Stella asked Keith as he and Shay unloaded the grocery bags.

“That one’s up to your dad,” Keith responded.

Lance groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I’m trying hard not to think about how much junk you’ve eaten in the last two days.”

“I’ll eat all my vegetables at dinner?” Stella promised, though her tone of voice made it clear that it was a reluctant promise. “Even if it’s broccoli?”

“I’ll take that half-hearted promise, because I know I’ll only half-heartedly force you to keep that promise,” Lance sighed. “Knowing my luck and the pattern of the last two and a half days, you’re eating chicken nuggets for dinner for the third night in a row.”

“Oh, no, I sure hope that won’t happen,” Stella said, failing to make her voice as somber as her words and unable to keep the grin off her face. Granted, at that point she had just taken her first bite of ice cream and it was rather difficult to frown while eating ice cream.

Shinji caught Shiro’s eye. “Hey, do you mind if I keep going through your stuff upstairs?”

“I don’t mind, but why?” Shiro asked.

“There’s something else I haven’t seen, but I think it might help,” Shinji explained. “Figure out what happened to you, I mean.”

“What is this thing, exactly?” Hunk asked.

“This notebook Takashi always was carrying around,” Shinji said, already heading for the stairs. “It might have some hint as to what Takashi was working on before… well. You know.”

With that, he disappeared upstairs.

Pidge accepted her own bowl with a small grunt of gratitude, and quickly shoveled in two spoonfuls before returning to her fast but precise typing, her eyes never once leaving the screen. Shiro wasn’t sure what he admired most: her concentration, her typing speed, or her apparent inability to get an ice cream headache.

When her fingers paused to repeat the ice cream eating process a few moments later, Shiro found something else to concentrate on.

Pidge had a small smudge of chocolate ice cream on the corner of her mouth. It didn’t bother him, per se, but he couldn’t help but watch that little smudge as it moved with Pidge’s mouth as her pursed her lips in frustration, or opened her mouth slightly to sigh or inhale.

Unconsciously, he reached out and rubbed his thumb over that little smudge.

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised by this, him or Pidge. She didn’t say anything or scream or flinch, she just turned her head slightly towards him, an eyebrow quirked. Shiro quickly drew back his hand, ashamed. He was so ashamed, that he could have sworn his cheeks burned. Sadly, it was the closest he had gotten to feeling actually alive in the last three days.

Still meeting his gaze, Pidge swiped the back of her hand over her mouth.

“Sorry,” Shiro said, turning away.

Pidge didn’t respond, just turned back to what she was doing.

Shiro was certain that her doing so was the greatest kindness he had ever been shown. Second only to the fact that, if anyone else in the room had seen what just happened, they didn’t comment.

“Ah ha,” Pidge said at last. “Okay. Location services were on, which means we have a semi-definite history of places of where Shiro was on the day he died. Beginning with the City of Charleston Police Department and ending at the Medical University of South Carolina. These are the two of three places that Google recognized and recorded—the former being saved as ‘Work’.”

“What’s the third place?” Romelle asked.

“According to my own map search based off of the 9-1-1 call we listened to earlier and Rolo and Nyma’s testimony, it’s the business that was beside the alleyway that Shiro was found in,” Pidge said.

“Which in and of itself is an interesting detail,” Shiro added. “Because if I was brought there instead of attacked there, then it means that whoever attacked me wanted me to be found. Or, at least, wanted my body to be found.”

“Could it be a calling card for the Blade?” Shay asked. “If it was actually Sorcerers? Kind of a ‘come and get me’ thing? Like serial killers?”

“Perhaps,” Romelle said, pursing her lips slightly in thought. “But if it was a calling card, there would have been more victims by now, as well as they would have made it more obvious.”

“What about the in-between?” Keith asked Pidge. “Can you find any information about where Shiro was between leaving the police station and being found in the alley?”

“I think so,” Pidge said, nodding slightly. “Give me a moment.”

She typed in a few things, then her brow furrowed. “Huh. That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Hunk asked.

“I managed to triangulate a previous location of Shiro’s phone,” Pidge said. “It put the location somewhere between East Bay Street, the Cooper River, and the aquarium.”

“Wait,” Shiro said, blinking. “You said triangulate…” He held up his hands to make a triangle with his thumbs and index fingers. “If where my fingers meet is the aquarium, is this triangle point up or point down?”

“Down?” Pidge said, a note of confusion and hesitancy in her voice.

Shiro nodded. “Then I know where I was at the time.”

“You do?” Hunk asked, surprised.

“I do,” Shiro said, standing up. “Columbus Terminal.”

“The port?” Keith said, his brow furrowing. “Why the hel—” There was a pointed cough from Lance and Keith quickly said, “—er, helicopter, were you at the port?”

Shiro looked Keith in the eye for a long moment, then said, “I have no idea.”

“Well then,” Pidge said, closing her laptop. “Let’s go find out.”


End file.
